


Here, in Paradise

by Achromos



Category: Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor (Video Games), TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bad Flirting, Elf Culture & Customs, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Hair Kink, Language Barrier, M/M, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Secret Identity, Sharing a Bed, Tirion, Valinor, excessive handholding, terms of endearment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2019-09-12 10:29:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 57,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16871278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achromos/pseuds/Achromos
Summary: When both Talion and Celebrimbor are mistakenly reincarnated in Valinor, they struggle to cope with their past and establishing a life in the Undying Lands. As they go forward, they also grow closer. But will there be punishment for trespassing in the Blessed Realm in the future?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome and please enjoy the fruits of my obsession with this ship. As for the continuity, please assume that everything that happened in the games still applies - therefore, I must issue a minor spoiler warning for both "Shadow of Mordor" and "Shadow of War". I was not happy with that ending at all, guys. Not at all. Generally, I am sticking as close to canon for both the games and the general Middle-earth lore as possible, including for the characters' background stories. Where there is nothing known or the two canons are conflicting, I have infered the most likely (or more convenient) thing.
> 
> Quenya and Sindarin translations in the end notes. My source for vocabulary is Parf Edhellen aka elfdict.com. Very useful. Further thanks to all the wikia out there, there are far too many Elves and relations to keep track of otherwise.
> 
> I do not have a posting schedule in mind, as this is still a WIP. And I'm a slow writer.
> 
> Enjoy!

Talion opened his eyes, blinking in the gentle light being filtered through leaves outside his window. Birdsong could be heard, underlaid with the rhythmic clang of metal on metal. With a yawn he stretched himself and got out of bed, where soft lamb wool slippers waited for his cold feet. In the kitchen he stoked the fire and set a kettle to boil while he cut himself some bread, spread thick with honey. Once the water was steaming, he added dried herbs to it and let it steep before pouring a cup.

Taking the cup and kettle with honey-sticky fingers, Talion strode outside, taking a left turn towards the clanging noises. Before a great bellows that stoked the flames of a forge, he found Celebrimbor, deeply focused on the object sitting on an anvil.

"Good morning," Talion said between Celebrimbor's swings of his hammer. "I brought you some tea."

The Elf's eyes quickly darted between the object he was making, and the cup held in Talion's hands, and back again.

"A few minutes," he said, continuing his ministrations.

Talion yawned again and took a sip of the tea himself, finding it very bitter but invigorating. Perhaps he should have added some honey to it.

He sat on a wooden chair that had been layered and cushioned with blankets, next to a table on which he set the cup and kettle. He rested there, watching contently as Celebrimbor worked. When finally, there was a lull in his movements, he refilled the cup and offered it up.

"Is that Cameneth's order?" he asked, waiting for Celebrimbor to take the tea.

"Yes. Two sets of small scissors, two pincers, five thimbles, thirty clips, fifty needles and eighty pins." Celebrimbor made a face but drained his cup. "I am finished with all except the last scissors, which need sharpening and polishing."

"We could deliver them tomorrow?"

Celebrimbor nodded, and then hesitated.

"What?"

"I thought perhaps we could wait."

"Why?" Talion asked, drawing out the syllable in confusion.

Celebrimbor ignored his questioning scowl, instead busying his hands with preparing the tools he would need next. The whetstone nearly tumbled out of his hands, however, and Talion rose with a sigh, plucking the items away.

"You're avoiding something. Someone. Someone you know will be in Tirion tomorrow, and might recognize you," he guessed.

"We have decided, for both of our safety and peace of mind, not to announce our presence to anyone; so why would you criticize my decision to maintain our anonymity?" Celebrimbor grumbled back, glaring at the whetstone in Talion's hands as if it had offended him deeply.

"Because I know you," Talion replied, "and you're not avoiding whoever it is for our benefit alone. You're afraid. Of their judgement, most likely."

This time the glare of steel blue eyes was directed at Talion. However, he'd had much practice withstanding the cold fire of Celebrimbor's ire, so he shrugged it off like it was nothing.

"Who is it?"

Sniffing, Celebrimbor turned away.

"No one of importance."

"Then we'll deliver Cameneth's order tomorrow."

"No!"

"Tell me why not."

"Because!" He threw up his hands and then crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking less like a legendary jewel-smith and Elf-Lord, and more like a petulant, put-upon bird. "The last time I was in Tirion," _alone_ , went the unsaid accusation, punctuated with another glare, "I heard rumors of a ship that had landed in Avallonë."

"Who was on it? Anyone we know?"

"No. Yes. The Ring-bearer, apparently, so you won't be the only mortal in all of Aman anymore at least."

"But the Ring-bearer is not who upsets you," Talion pressed on. "You could care less about one little … what was it, a Halfling?"

"Yes, a- … Oh, it doesn't matter."

"It matters to you."

Celebrimbor huffed.

"Which makes it your business. Alright. There are a few to be rumored to have sailed in this ship that would recognize me. Elrond Half-elven, for one. And Círdan, the Shipwright." He uncrossed his arms. "But I do not want to face my cousin, the Lady Galadriel. She would smite me upon sight."

"Why would she do that? Celebrimbor, you're worrying yourself over nothing. I'm sure she would be glad to see you again, whole and hale," Talion tried to assure him.

"But she _knows_ ," Celebrimbor all but whined. And they both knew what he was talking about.

"You think Eltariel told her?"

"Galadriel knows everything, all the time. It's annoying. And she disapproves of everything too, which is even more annoying because she is always right about everything." He made a face. "She never makes mistakes."

"Ah," Talion sighed knowingly. "Sibling rivalry. Or cousin rivalry, in this case."

"It's not that. And it's complicated. But I'm sure she hates me, and I don't want to see her anyway."

"Celebrimbor. If she is coming to Tirion, don't you think she intends to stay?"

"You're right. Perhaps we should relocate to the outskirts of Alqualondë."

Talion pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"That is not what- …"

"No, the Teleri live there, and they despise me and my lineage, they'd be sure to burn me at the stake in retribution."

" _Celebrimbor_."

"I know, I know, I am exaggerating. But you do see how this is a problem, right? Talion?"

He finally raised his head from his hands with a sigh.

"There are at least a dozen people in Tirion who may recognize you at all times. The Lord, for example, Finarfin. Or any of your former Gwaith-i-Mírdain who may have been reincarnated and chosen to live in Tirion. Or your mother and sister, for heaven's sake. It's no excuse to avoid the city for three more people in it who may know who you are – or may not, for that matter. You have changed, for all that it counts. So please, tell me why you are really avoiding this party arriving in Tirion soon."

Celebrimbor sat heavily on one of the other stools he kept in his forge and shrugged.

"There is much history between us, and none of it good. For one, Elrond Peredhel was first kidnapped and then more or less raised by two of my uncles, Maglor and Maedhros. Later, he was meant to reinforce Eregion's armies in battle against Sauron, but he was unable to save us at this point."

Talion cursed.

"I had no idea," he whispered.

"I heard that he was later given Vilya, the Ring of Air, and similarly Círdan was given Narya, the Ring of Fire, but it is rumored that he passed it on to someone else." Celebrimbor paused, gazing at the now still bellows and low embers of his forge. "But it was Galadriel who first told me to scatter the Three. I sent her Nenya, the Ring of Adamant. My ring."

"And you followed her advice."

"I did. And it saved the Three from Sauron's influence, but- …"

"So why would she wish you ill?"

Celebrimbor grimaced.

"Are my name, my lineage and my deeds not enough? Every day I wonder why I have been admitted to the Undying Lands. On what merit I may have earned this privilege. And every day I come up with nothing."

Talion scoffed gently and went to kneel next to Celebrimbor, throwing a sprawling arm across his lap in a semblance of a loose hug. After a few moments of reluctance, a warm hand came to rest upon his.

"At least you are not a mortal soul secretly dwelling in the Blessed Realm, where until just now I had thought to be the only one to ever do so."

"Well, that is true."

"So. Shall we deliver these tools to the Lady Cameneth tomorrow?"

"I believe that would be prudent."

Talion laughed at the sardonic tone in Celebrimbor's voice and rose to his feet.

"I will prepare us some of that rabbit I caught last night for lunch, what do you say? You finish sharpening those scissors and join me later."

The hand that had remained clasped around his squeezed gently, and Celebrimbor said: "That would please me greatly."

///

Talion noisily slurped a spoonful of broth, knowing it usually annoyed Celebrimbor to no end and incited some sort of reaction. But it was worrisome that instead of chiding him for his awful manners he merely changed the direction in which he was stirring his own soup, watching the ripples as if they held the secrets of the universe.

In that case, Talion decided to throw subtlety out the window and kicked him in the shin.

"Why are you so morose all of a sudden, I thought you were happy to have finished this commission," he said around a mouthful of leftover rabbit. "Or is my cooking that terrible?"

Celebrimbor grunted and rubbed his leg.

"It's not your cooking, Talion, I apologize. I was thinking."

"Thinking about what? Seriously, sometimes I think you are even more reticent as an Elf than as a Wraith."

"I am not reticent," Celebrimbor protested, albeit weakly. "It is merely … difficult to speak of some things. Even to you, who has come to know me like no other."

Regretful, Talion dropped his spoon and held out a hand to Celebrimbor in silent apology.

"You do not have to tell me. Not right now."

The relief in Celebrimbor's eyes was palpable, yet still he completed the gesture by grasping Talion's hand. Between them, a silent understanding passed. Talion continued eating, placated, reassured in the knowledge that Celebrimbor was not hiding anything from him. He was battling with his inner demons, and he knew only too well that this took time. Allowing Celebrimbor to face them himself, on his own terms, and in his own time was the only thing he could offer.

He went to bed that night untroubled and woke content, though weighed down by something other than his scratchy, woolen blankets.

"Please tell me you haven't been staring at my drooling face for the entire night," Talion yawned and stretched without attempting to dislodge Celebrimbor's arm slung across his waist.

"Only since dawn," came the smug reply. "Though Anor has graced the skies for a while now already."

"You do not try to flatter me by saying I do not drool?"

"There is little I can do in the face of unshakeable evidence of your unfortunate habits."

Talion laughed and wiped his face with the lapels of Celebrimbor's tunic directly in front of him.

"Disgusting," Celebrimbor grumbled, but there was no heat behind his words. "Please wash your face properly with the water I have provided. And shave, for heaven's sake. As you are right now, nobody would mistake you for the Elf we claim you to be."

Talion got up with a grunt, but complied dutifully, starting by shedding his dirty clothes. He had long since given up on feeling shame in front of Celebrimbor for his naked body – a body they had both inhabited together for a lifetime. Still, he felt those flame-blue eyes upon him, and he wondered whether they found him lacking. Imperfect, as Men were, in the face of Elven beauty, and especially so in Valinor, the holy lands. Yet here he was, feigning to be one of the Fair Folk, and for now, he had managed to blend in with nothing more than a change of clothes, a clean shave, and by growing out his hair so it hid his round ears.

"Do I pass muster?" he asked teasingly, twirling in his blue-grey robes at the foot of the bed where Celebrimbor still lay.

"It will do," Celebrimbor sniffed, but Talion recognized the satisfaction of a job well done. "I have already packed our bags – Cameneth's commission, and provisions for the road."

"And here I thought you were a lazy bum."

Finally, Celebrimbor rose, brows pinched in offense, yet he merely stepped closer to Talion and tugged absentmindedly at some fastenings on his robe. His own tunic and cloak were a matching blue, though accented with black instead of grey, suiting his darker coloring.

"Says the one who habitually sleeps away half the day."

"I can pretend to be one of the Eldar all I want," Talion retorted, curiously watching Celebrimbor's fingers fiddle and fidget. "Yet still I need sleep, as any Man does. If I wish to remain healthy and alive, that is."

"Hm."

"But you know this."

Celebrimbor looked up, blue eyes startlingly clear as always beneath a heavy, burdened brow.

"Sometimes I forget," was all he said before brushing past Talion like a breeze.

Throwing up his hands at the strange antics of Elves, Talion could do naught but follow, finding that Celebrimbor had indeed prepared two packs for them, one stacked high with the commission for the seamstress Cameneth, and the other bulging with food and water aplenty. Wordlessly they took one pack each, knowing and acknowledging each other's roles, their strengths and weaknesses.

Celebrimbor closed the door of their house at the edge of the woods behind them with half a mechanical and half a magical mechanism, and then grasped Talion's hand in his.

"How are your Sindarin and Quenya studies going?" he asked then and led them onto the path to Tirion.

Talion groaned.

"I know conversational Sindarin, but I don't see why you must plague me with Quenya as well. And I can write Tengwar well enough, though I know you'd call my lettering horrendously ugly, but reading it is still utterly painful."

"Minë lambë lá ná farëa," Celebrimbor retorted smartly. "Not all Elves who dwell in Tirion have travelled to or been born in Middle-earth. They are reluctant to speak Sindarin, much less Westron. In order to blend in, you should at least be fluent in the former, and have a working knowledge of Quenya."

"I know, Celebrimbor, I know. Still, I thought this was supposed to be paradise. Making me study languages when you know it is a weakness of mine is just plain cruel."

Celebrimbor stopped dead in his tracks, causing their arms to stretch out between them as Talion initially continued without him. The look in Celebrimbor's eyes was frightening, so he closed the distance between them again.

"Am I really? Am I cruel to you?"

"Oh stars," Talion sighed. "I did not mean it like that. I was merely teasing. I know this is necessary, and I am grateful for your insistence. I don't want to be discovered and abandoned to the fate of Men either."

Celebrimbor swallowed visibly.

"Everything we do must be to remain together. I would not bear it otherwise, paradise though it is supposed to be," he said hoarsely.

"I know." Talion ran a soothing thumb over Celebrimbor's knuckles. "Come now, and reprimand me for my atrocious pronunciation."

For a while, unpacified by the beautiful meadows and glades they wandered through, a tremor of anxiety remained in Celebrimbor that Talion fought to dispel with his own calm and surety. Each of them had their fears, but the other was always steadfast in the face of them, and so they held each other up, when alone they would fall.

After a short break to consume some bread, fruit and water, finally the white spires of Tirion appeared, like a crown upon the hill of Túna, framed on both sides by the steep walls of the valley of Calacirya. The path led past grazing livestock and fields of produce, as the soil here was very fertile, and finally to the crystal stairs that would carry them to the gates of Tirion.

All the unease that had fled Celebrimbor before under Talion's care now returned tenfold, as it did whenever they visited the great city of his kin. Talion knew some of the history that had transpired here, and how it affected Celebrimbor, though not all of it. But even so, the pearly white terraces and towers were awe-inspiring in and of themselves. Intimidating even, in their age and beauty.

He almost expected the guards stationed at the gate to stop them, suddenly afraid that his disguise was not enough. Surely, they would recognize that one of them was not truly an Elf? Did his hair cover his round ears? Was his gait not elegant enough? They would see his treachery, grab him and- …

"Na quilda, melinya," Celebrimbor whispered in his ear, and though Talion did not know the meaning of these words, a cool calm washed over him, like gentle summer rain.

"Thank you," he replied, squeezing Celebrimbor's hand.

They passed through the gate undisturbed, unnoticed even, and stepped foot on the diamond gravel roads of Tirion.

Suddenly, there was life all around them, as if Tirion were a bubble trapping laughter, chatter and the noises of Elven existence within its pearlescent walls. Brightly clad Elves strode unhurried along the paths, crossing here and there, calling from windows on high, offering polite greetings in a kaleidoscope of language, voice and song. Talion clung to Celebrimbor, who shielded him from too many sharp eyes and foreign phrases. It was overwhelming, but beautiful in its vigor and purity. And grieving, too, for the design much reminded Talion of Minas Tirith, the white city of Men. And this Elven city was white upon white, yet its inhabitants seemed determined to bring color to it, be it with their garments, their hair, their voices or their laughter. From all sides, delicious scents wafted in, carrying the smell of freshly baked goods, ripe fruit, clean linens and even perfume.

Anyone who thought Elves quiet and cold had never seen Tirion. There were Elf-children underfoot playing with toys so intricate and brilliant Talion mistook them for real birds and butterflies. Elf-maidens that carried jewels and flowers in their usually dark hair like specks of poetry made color. Craftspeople waving their fabrics in the air to draw the attention of customers as they danced across the diamond streets.

They were greeted a hundred times, and with every time that Talion managed to utter a proper reply, garnering him smiles, samples from merchants and kisses from maidens – though Celebrimbor was quick to pull him along – he felt more confident.

Nobody knew about him. He and Celebrimbor were here with false names, dressed darkly and humbly to mark them as outsiders, only to trade and find new work.

Finally, they reached the street where Cameneth had her tailor shop. Upon entering, they were greeted by the mistress herself, who was swathed in samples of her own fabric, apparently consulting with a customer.

"Calatindo!" she exclaimed, waving her weighed-down arms in enthusiasm. "And Amath! It is so good to see you again, please come in. Mellyn-nín, this is the Lady Idhrenil, a longstanding and valued customer and friend of mine. She has just commissioned a new dress from me."

"Indeed, I have," said the other elleth, touching a hand to her chest and extending it in greeting.

Celebrimbor and Talion mirrored the gesture.

"We have the tools you commissioned, mistress," Celebrimbor said, letting the pack he had been carrying slide from his shoulder.

"Oh, put that down, sit, always so blunt and straightforward these blacksmiths, wouldn't you agree," mistress Cameneth addressed the Lady Idhrenil, who watched on with endless patience.

"I have not met many blacksmiths, I must confess," said the lady, good-naturedly hemming and hawing over two fabrics the mistress showed her.

Celebrimbor huffed and wrinkled his nose haughtily, clearly put-upon yet unable to protest being called a mere blacksmith. But he complied, setting down his pack and gesturing for Talion to sit next to him on one of the cushioned settees the mistress' tailor shop had everywhere, for her customers' comfort. An assistant came rushing from the back of the shop and offered them tea and cakes while they waited. Though the mistress was bustling in the background, otherwise the shop was an island of peace and quiet. Talion nearly felt himself nodding off, only Celebrimbor's whispered reminders to stay awake kept him from closing his eyes for too long.

"There!" mistress Cameneth finally exclaimed, turning to them with red cheeks and a broad smile. "You have my new tools?"

Talion let Celebrimbor present his work to the mistress, watching with quiet pride as she inspected the tools with great satisfaction.

"I must say, I had underestimated you, master Calatindo. The quality of these is … outstanding. I will sew the most magnificent clothes with these, I can feel it."

While she scurried off to get their payment, the Lady Idhrenil approached, almost hesitant.

"Pardon me, I could not help but overhear. Would it be overly presumptuous of me to commission something from you myself?"

"Not at all," Celebrimbor replied politely. "What did you have in mind?"

"My husband is a sculptor, you see, and I still do not have an appropriate gift for Midsummer's. Would it be possible to make personalized tools for him? I could give you our family crest and his name."

"Of course. Perhaps a set of chisels of varying size and shape?"

"Yes, that sounds perfect! Do you have a shop where I could come by?"

Celebrimbor hesitated for a few moments, visibly struggling. In his stead, Talion stepped in: "I am afraid we live outside of Tirion. But Midsummer's is a while away still, perhaps we could meet again another time to discuss the details of your commission?"

"Oh, but of course, perhaps we could meet for lunch?"

They quickly agreed on a date a week from then and exchanged a few more pleasantries. By the time Talion feared his own conversational skills, though by no means as sparse as Celebrimbor's, were about to dry out, thankfully mistress Cameneth returned with their pay.

"Yes," she interrupted, "isn't it a shame that these two lovely ellyn live so far away, I'm sure master Calatindo would see much more work if they had a shop here in Tirion."

"It's not that far," Talion protested.

"And we value our privacy," Celebrimbor added.

The ellith exchanged a glance between themselves and then faced them with kind, entreating expressions.

"But would it not be much more convenient to live in Tirion? All the shops are here, and society is so pleasant, very welcoming," asked the Lady Idhrenil.

"I agree. And you do such brilliant work, many other artisans in Tirion would surely appreciate your service, master Calatindo. It would benefit everyone!"

Talion glanced at Celebrimbor, who in turn gave him a look of pleading horror, but Talion could not think of a smart retort himself either.

"I, uh, well, we- …"

"And you mustn't fear gossip either, the minds here are very open," added the mistress Cameneth with a disturbing wink.

"Gossip?" Celebrimbor echoed, nearly choking on the word.

"It is no shame, despite what may have been said over in Middle-earth. I never understood this, myself, as I was born in Tirion after the Exile of our kin. But I have heard things. This is Aman, and anyone is free to live and love as they wish!"

All of a sudden, Talion realized what she was talking about and felt himself blush violently, even as he heard Celebrimbor's stilted reply: "We are very glad that you think so, mistress."

"Oh no, call me Cameneth, mellyn-nín, we are all friends here."

"Yes, indeed," said Lady Idhrenil, who had been observing their exchange with a smile on her face. "Surely you should let us try to find accommodations for the two of you here in Tirion. As your friends it is only right that we should want you to live comfortably – and not too far away from us." She made an innocent, wide-eyed expression. "And it would so help me find the perfect gift for my husband if you were nearer."

Talion was just about to open his mouth and say something placating, some sort of apology why they could not take them up on their offer, when Celebrimbor stepped in instead.

"We are very grateful for your friendship, but I must insist. It is our decision not to live in Tirion, the reasons for which are manifold and complicated. Despite how heartwarming your gesture is, I am afraid we cannot accept it."

Cameneth looked stricken.

"I did not mean to offend, I apologize."

"No offense has been taken," Talion assured her.

"But as your friends," the Lady Idhrenil interjected, "we would be happy to be of assistance in any way. I will be sure to mention your excellent craftsmanship to the friends of my husband's who are artisans themselves."

"Appreciated."

"We must go now, though, as lovely as it was to speak with you and make your acquaintance."

"Of course, and thank you again for your excellent work, master Calatindo," mistress Camenet said, still slightly red in the face from her earlier blunder.

"Until next week," the Lady Idhrenil told them, extending a hand in farewell.

Just outside the shop, Talion turned to Celebrimbor, who grasped his hand with a fierce desperation in his eyes.

"I think I need a really strong drink right now," he said.

"Agreed."

Though Talion had been to Tirion a few times by now, his sense of direction would not hold a candle to Celebrimbor's knowledge of its winding, white streets, having to Talion's understanding at least for some time lived here in his childhood. It came as no surprise, therefore, when he soon got turned around. Celebrimbor led him with quick paces around corners, up and down terraces, and through crossroads that he had never seen before. Until they reached a square, where chairs and tables had been scattered around in effortless, haphazard order. Many Elves were seated there, enjoying snacks and drinks at their leisure, basking in the pleasant afternoon sun.

Celebrimbor got them a seat away from the center and beckoned a waiter, speaking rapid-fire Quenya. Then he turned around to Talion, a broad grin on his face.

"Why am I scared of you all of a sudden," he said deadpan, pointing at Celebrimbor's expression.

"Consider this a …" He paused, faking a contemplative frown, and steepled his fingers. "A continuation of your education of Elvish traditions."

"Drinking?"

"Oh, yes. Elves _love_ their drink. Large quantities of it, and due to our natural resistance to it, the stronger the better." The nearly predatory grin returned to Celebrimbor's face. "Your poor mortal constitution could not handle even a sampling of all the delicacies they offer here, but we shall attempt nonetheless. After all, I shall finish off anything that is too much for you."

Talion barked out a laugh despite himself when Celebrimbor rubbed his hands in barely masked glee.

"I see you are not only capable of torturing me with grammar, but with poisonously strong alcohol as well. If I did not know any better, I'd think you're trying to kill me."

Usually, Celebrimbor would take offense to such a joke or fall into a morose mood, but this time he joined Talion in laughter. When the waiter returned and started covering their entire table with glasses of varying size and design, he engaged him in more conversation, uncharacteristically cheerful.

"Hanta," he chuckled and paid for their order with a negligible fraction of the money they had gotten from mistress Cameneth.

"Now, where do we start?"

"You may start with this one," Celebrimbor said, pushing a tall glass of clear, golden liquid towards Talion. "Simple cider; yet fermented from apples that grew in the garden of Yavanna, and therefore immeasurably more refined. And I will start with this, an Avallonian white wine. It is said to be strong enough to reverse the tides."

"You're letting me off easy?"

"Hardly. Almien! Bottoms up."

Carefully, Talion took a sip of his magical cider. His eyes widened when the taste hit his tongue – incredibly sweet and potent, it immediately invigorated him, and before he knew it, he'd drained half the glass before him. To his horror however, he found that Celebrimbor had already emptied his. And he was hiccupping.

"I didn't know Elves even could hiccup," he whispered.

"Ap- … Apparently they c- … can." Celebrimbor groaned. "I suppose this counts as reversing the tides. Let me wash it down with s- … some Hírin red. Always served extremely chilled. Th- … That should help."

Talion couldn't suppress a giggle – dear heavens, was he already drunk? – when Celebrimbor hiccupped again after having only drunk half of his red wine. After he polished off the last dregs of it, however, the symptoms seemed to have vanished.

"Alright. Finish your cider, I have another one for you. Gondorian ale. Not original, of course, but the recipe is the same. It's like water to us, perfect to cleanse the palate."

Talion eagerly accepted the mug handed to him, already smelling the familiar tang of the brew he knew so well.

"And you?"

"For me, we have here a glass of limpë." He showed him a decidedly wicked looking concoction, sparkling strangely in the light as if it were not pure liquid, and of poison green color. "Very strongly affects the mind. I will not be held liable if I start singing."

"You sing?" Talion asked, licking his lips. Oh, he had missed true Gondorian ale. And though he knew this particular one had not been brewed in his homeland, it still tasted exactly as he remembered. It was so nostalgic, he felt nearly moved to tears.

Meanwhile, Celebrimbor struggled with his limpë.

"Only rarely," he replied, barely masking a cough. "Though I was taught by my uncle, Maglor, who is said to have been the greatest poet and minstrel of the Ñoldor." He paused, looking at his nearly empty glass. "Well, nobody knows if he is really dead or not."

"Wait, he might be alive?"

Celebrimbor shrugged.

"He most likely faded and passed into the Halls of Mandos."

"Wouldn't you have met him there?"

"No. They are not actual _halls_ , Talion," Celebrimbor said, almost gently.

Talion realized that if not for the alcohol, most likely Celebrimbor would not have told him this. Or he would not have been so composed and nearly cheerful when speaking about his kin, even one he seemed to have made fond memories with. So he dropped the topic, and instead prompted Celebrimbor to choose his next, probably nearly lethal concoction.

"Aah, this is miruvor. Perhaps you have heard of it?"

"Yes. Apparently, it has restoring abilities?"

"Indeed, it does. It has been used on many a battlefield to rejuvenate the sick, the dying and the weary." Celebrimbor eyed the small glass held between his forefinger and thumb, which contained a clear, unassuming liquid. It looked like water. "The drink of the Valar. When used on a healthy individual, however, it is merely extremely nutritious and invigorating."

"To your health, then."

"Oh, actually I think you should take it. It is not intoxicating – or not much, at least. But anyone should have at least tried some."

Warily, Talion accepted the tiny glass and first sniffed at the liquid inside. It had a very sweet and pleasant odor, not sharp or stinging at all, as one would expect with a cordial as strong as this. So he carefully first touched his tongue and lips to it, and then took a small sip.

"I think," he said, smacking his lips, "I was drunk before. And now I'm not."

Celebrimbor smiled, his chin propped on one hand and waved off Talion's offer to share the rest of it.

"Keep it for later. I want you to try this one with me first, and if it hits you too hard, simply take more of the miruvor." He poked a finger at a tall, narrow glass, holding a sparkling, pale gold colored liquid inside. "Anorian mead, said to be brewed directly from or with sunlight, nobody agrees on the true translation, and the recipe is jealously guarded."

Filled with suspicion at Celebrimbor's insistence that Talion try it first, he only took a very small sip of the mead. Immediately, his entire body felt as if filled with sunlight and warmth, until he thought he would burst. Then, he felt the embarrassing urge to burp.

"Fascinating," Celebrimbor muttered, ignoring Talion's struggle with his wayward stomach. He touched warm fingertips to Talion's temple, throat and various points on his torso as if he were looking for something.

Finally, Talion managed to get himself under control again.

"What was that?"

"Sunlight! Fermented with honey and filled into bottles, to be consumed at one's leisure. It seems that on Men it has the effect of purification from toxins. How do you feel?"

"You are experimenting on me?" Talion cried, then clapped a hand in front of his mouth, looking around in horror to see if anyone had heard him. Thankfully, nobody paid them any attention. He leaned forward and whispered: "You're _experimenting_ on me?"

Celebrimbor clicked his tongue.

"Hardly. You are merely the first mortal to have drunk Anorian mead in literal Ages. And then it was the Númenoreans, who are as alike to Men as a lion to a cat."

Disgruntled, Talion frowned and burped into his fist.

"Well, it has made me incredibly gassy, so you better deal with that."

"Fascinating," Celebrimbor repeated, and drained the rest of the mead himself in one big gulp.

"And what is the effect on Elves?"

Celebrimbor reached out with both of his hands, beckoning Talion to take them. As soon as he did, his eyes widened in wonder.

"You're so _warm_."

"It feels like basking in the sun."

"I mean you're always warm, but … It did feel like that at first for me too. Until the – you know," Talion said. "So, which one is your favorite?"

"Well, traditionally I was quite partial to white wine, but my close relations to dwarves have fostered a deep appreciation of ales and other brews as well. Of the ones we tasted today though? I'd have to say the Anorian mead."

"Fair enough; it didn't make you burp in public."

"Excuse me," Celebrimbor protested, "I was hiccupping before, that is even more inconvenient. And you can take the rest of the miruvor to soothe your stomach."

"Oh, right." Talion peered at the clear liquid and sniffed at it again, taking in its sweet, flowery odor. Truly, it seemed like magic that a mere sip could have such effects on the body. Then again, he was a mortal Man, enjoying magical drinks in a square in an Elven city in the Undying Lands, and his company was a legendary Elf-lord whose name surely every Elfling grew up knowing. Nothing, and yet everything, was magical.

Their waiter returned, clearing away the now empty array of glasses, once more engaging Celebrimbor in small-talk. Celebrimbor replied, smiling easily, eyes shining like the sun-brew he'd just consumed. Amused, Talion observed as the waiter flushed and walked away, though not without turning around and glancing over his shoulder at the back of Celebrimbor's head.

Talion nudged his foot against Celebrimbor's to get his attention.

"I think he was flirting with you," he whispered.

"What?" Celebrimbor exclaimed, suddenly pale, and turned around, catching the waiter looking at him again. The poor Elf's eyes widened comically, and he nearly stumbled, only his Elven grace saving him from what was sure to be a disastrous fall.

Talion snickered.

"Outrageous," said Celebrimbor, though he seemed more distraught than angry. "Come, Talion, let's leave."

"What, why?" Talion cried out as Celebrimbor grabbed his hand and dragged him to his feet.

"If he stares any more, he will recognize who I am."

"No, no, that is a weak excuse. You are embarrassed," Talion said knowingly, though he let Celebrimbor now lead him through the orderly streets of Tirion and what he presumed was in the direction of the Western gates.

"I am not embarrassed."

"Yes, you are. You've never flirted or been flirted with."

Celebrimbor grumbled something indiscernible under his breath but relented by slowing his pace and easing his grip on Talion's hand.

"While it is true that I was more preoccupied with my work than with any … romances during my lifetime, I was not without suitors, I assure you," he groused.

"And you fended them all of with your gruff manner and deep scowl, I am sure."

"I was the Lord or Eregion, and I had my mother and then later also my sister to think of. Naturally, I was disinclined to- …" He paused. "There was no place for it. And I saw what it did to my mother, loving one such as my father. I could not do that to another."

They walked for a while, reaching the Western gate and the crystal stairs that descended into the fertile flood lands below. Celebrimbor gestured for Talion to give him his pack, now heavier than his since they had delivered mistress Cameneth's commission. Though he would usually protest, this time Talion relented right away. He felt their discussion was not yet over, and he hoped they might continue it.

He was proven right as they passed by a field of grain, the serene rustle of the wind brushing through the stalks surrounding them.

"What about you and your wife?" Celebrimbor asked him finally.

"We were young," Talion began with a sigh. Thinking of and especially speaking about his family still pained him – though time had healed many wounds. "Too young, I would say now. She had promised herself to me when we were barely past childhood, and I promised myself to her in return. There was never another for either of us."

"How did you know that she was the one?"

Talion glanced sideways at Celebrimbor, who himself stared stubbornly ahead, giving away nothing of his expression.

"She was kind and generous. She was my friend. I knew I could spend a lifetime with her without tiring of her words. And I knew she would be a great mother," he replied then.

"Hm."

"I'm … sorry for teasing you earlier, Celebrimbor. It was just the spirit of the moment, I must confess. I've never seen you like this." He grinned. "I think I like the drunk version of you better than your usual caustic self."

Celebrimbor scoffed: "Oh, but you haven't met my drunk self yet. And I know not of what you speak, I am always good-humored."

They laughed together, then, walking hand in hand towards their home at the edge of a forest. An Elf and a Man, both lost and alone in the Blessed Realm. Clinging to each other for comfort and company.

///

Talion sat contentedly in his chair, within the area of warmth emanating from Celebrimbor's forge, yet far enough to not dry out his eyes in mere minutes. His hands were busy fletching a few arrows with which he intended to go hunting soon, as their stores of fresh meat were running out, and he thought he should need some leather soon to replace a few things.

Meanwhile, Celebrimbor was working on a few pieces he intended to show the Lady Idhrenil, as samples of his work, should she wish to commission him for her husband's Midsummer gift. They were simple pieces, probably easy enough to the master smith that he could forge them in his sleep. Still, Talion knew the forge was a place of consolation to him, and he could appreciate it too. The warmth and light from it, the steady noise of Celebrimbor's work, it soothed Talion in a way he'd rarely experienced before.

He finished fletching the last arrow in his quiver, but the hour was still rather early yet, so he remained seated and instead watched Celebrimbor toil at his forge.

It often occurred to Talion how different he was here, in the Undying Lands, compared to when he was Talion's former Wraith companion. But it was not the lack of mortal scars or his style of dress – simple tunics and trousers and a leather apron instead of his great, shining armor – that bewildered Talion. Nor was it the difference between the warrior he had been before, and the craftsman that he was now. Rather, Talion wondered whether Celebrimbor had perhaps been like this before his death. So content with so very little.

A legendary master smith who once created Rings of Power and jewels of unparalleled beauty. Yet here he was, making spoons and nails, chisels and horseshoes. Did he start like this, once upon a time? A young, talented Elf, from a family shunned and abhorred by many?

His power and skill were evident nonetheless. Just as the mistress Cameneth had told them, even the simplest things he made were done beautifully, with a simplicity and elegance that surpassed everything else. And there was something entrancing in the way Celebrimbor seemed to forget Talion and the rest of the world, even when merely forging some new tool, his fire-blue eyes focused on his creation from its inception to the last polish.

Talion looked at his arrows – sturdy and well-made, they would surely serve him well – and wondered whether he looked the same, making things he never thought he would.

He had been a soldier, through and through. He knew how to fight and how to care for his tools; his armor and weapons. He knew how to ride horses and how to take care of them too. But he never learned a craft. Much that he did now – hunting, cooking, and what little repair work he was capable of doing in the house – he did by playing by ear, either from having observed others doing it, or by letting his intuition guide him.

Sometimes it came out well. Other times, it did not.

Thankfully, he'd already know how to make and fletch arrows, having been taught this a long time ago by his father. Still, it had taken him more than a few tries to remember the art of it. It had been … a few years, after all. Fortunately, he did not need to worry about crafting a bow in addition to this, since Celebrimbor had made him one, despite it being made from wood rather than his usual medium of metal.

The bow was not unlike Azkâr had been, once upon a time. The spirit bow Celebrimbor treasured so in his life that he carried with him in death. Perhaps it spoke of his fondness for the old bow, or his appreciation of its design, or something else entirely. Talion was just glad it was a familiar shape and weight in his hand; his shots remained as accurate as they had been, back when he had been known as the Gravewalker. When he had a steady, Elven hand to guide him.

Before his thoughts could stray to the darkness of Mordor as it was, his ears picked up the unmistakable sound of hooves on soft forest ground.

"Guests," confirmed Celebrimbor, barely glancing up from his work. "Two riders. One of their horses is lame."

"I'll open the stables then."

He was just done unlatching the doors to the boxes inside, when he heard Celebrimbor's voice calling out to greet whoever had approached them, no doubt for his services.

"Hail," responded one of the riders, just as Talion rounded the corner. "We are in need of a blacksmith, and it is fortunate we heard you laboring so close to the site of the mishap. One of our horses lost its shoe."

"Of course. Bring them to the stables, where my companion waits. We shall make swift work of it."

Talion watched both the riders jump from their saddles, their gesture and appearance uncanny in its semblance. They had to be twins, both dark of hair and light in countenance, despite their formal language, which sounded stilted to Talion's Mannish ears.

"Greetings," one of them said to Talion, handing over his horse's reins.

"Mae govannen," he replied. "If you would wait for me to secure the horses and prepare some fresh water and food for them, I will prepare some refreshments for you as well."

"That is very kind of you."

Talion led the horses into the stable, immediately recognizing which one had lost its shoe. He put the other inside a box, unsaddling and unbridling the both of them so they could rest and cool off. Then he set a bowl of oats and a bucket of water close to them.

Outside the stables, the twin Elves looked away from where they had been observing Celebrimbor finishing his preparations.

"We apologize for not introducing ourselves earlier," said one of them.

"Elladan and Elrohir, at your service," said the other, not clarifying who was who, and they both bowed.

"I am Amath, and this is Calatindo. We are delighted to make your acquaintance. Please, step inside, would you like some nettle tea and berries I have picked just yesterday to rejuvenate yourselves?"

"That sounds lovely."

He held open the door for the twins, still smiling in what he hoped was a serenely pleasant expression, when he caught Celebrimbor frozen in his motions, looking as panicked as any Elf would dare to look.

"What?" he mouthed at him.

"Those," Celebrimbor hissed, stabbing a finger in the direction of where the twins had gone, "are the sons of Elrond Peredhel."

Then he proceeded to all but toss his tools in the direction of the stables and hurried towards Talion, framing his face with two searing warm hands. He then looked him over, from head to toe, and stared in his eyes, whispering: "Na lim, melitse. I'll be as quick as I can."

Talion released a gust of breath and wiped his hands on his tunic, bracing himself to act supremely Elven in front of two noble Elves who may or may not be capable of recognizing at least Celebrimbor for who he was.

Easy as slaying an Uruk warchief.

He confidently strode past the twins, gesturing for them to sit at the sparse dinner table in front of the open kitchen fire. As he prepared the kettle for some tea, he felt the both of them staring at him.

"There is a smudge of soot on your cheek," said one of them – Elladan? – and they simultaneously pointed at their own faces to indicate the spot.

Talion quickly wiped it away, hiding his embarrassment behind a wet cloth. Celebrimbor must have left the mark there with his ash-stained fingers.

"Pardon our modest hospitality," he said as he brought them some nuts and berries from their food stores and suddenly noticed the stark difference between their unadorned earthenware and the twins' fine, expensive clothing. They even wore circlets adorned with jewels, despite obviously only having been out for some leisure time. "We live humbly and simply."

"There is only honesty and honor in that," responded Elrohir, or perhaps it was Elladan instead. He'd already gotten them turned around in his head again. "Much more, we are embarrassed to impose on you so, unplanned and sudden."

"Not at all. It brings Calatindo great joy to practice his craft, and our home is open to any of our patrons."

"And we see that his craftsmanship is great, in spite of its humility." Elladan's cool grey eyes were trained on something behind Talion's back, on the wall above the fire. Azkâr. It was the only object there, displayed not in pride but for practicality. He had planned to go hunting later, after all. "There are some dwarven influences that I recognize in this bow. How unusual."

"They are great smiths," Talion said, hopefully not sounding too defensive.

"That is true."

He poured them some tea, which they both drank quietly, taking it with a dollop of honey each. Neither of them paid much mind to the food, but then Talion knew how little sufficed to staunch an Elf's hunger.

The twins were quiet, though apparently more than satisfied with sipping their tea in silence, so Talion busied himself by finishing some chores and preparing his hunting gear. If this business was not to take too long, he could still go out and perhaps at least scout for some prey, to be captured at a later date.

Azkâr he left on its hook for now, lest he draw more attention to its exotic design.

"You are a hunter?" Elrohir interrupted the comfortable silence after a while.

"I suppose so."

"We used to be hunters as well," added Elladan. "Though in Middle-earth we hunted Orcs and Goblins and the like. Here, we rather find that we are of little use."

This startled a laugh from Talion.

"It is much the same for me. I was a warrior – yet here there is no war. Blessedly so, but still. All my skill is for naught."

The twins nodded at the same time.

"We landed only recently on the shores of Eldamar, yet we already feel restless. Perhaps we should learn a new craft, but we are yet undecided." They shared a look. "Though if you have found some fulfillment in hunting and gathering, maybe we might as well."

Talion was tempted to offer them to join him, and to anyone else he might have done so. But these were the sons of Lord Elrond. Their presence drew the wrong kind of attention. He would not do anything to compromise Celebrimbor's wish for anonymity.

"The forests are flush with wildlife, and beautiful," he said instead. "It is a worthwhile vocation."

"We will keep it in mind."

The twins continued to sip their tea, apparently content to let the house fall into silence, which was only pierced by the crackling of the fire and Celebrimbor's work outside. Talion busied himself with menial work, until the latter noise ceased.

Talion went to the door and stepped outside to the sight of Celebrimbor running in circles, one of the Elf-lords' horses trailing docilely behind him.

"You're done?" he called out.

"She certainly seems happy enough with her new shoe," Celebrimbor replied and halted, stroking the horse's velvety nose. The mare snorted and tried to nibble at his hand, perhaps seeking for treats, when she caught sight of her master.

"Ah, how wonderful!" cried Elladan, hurrying to his loyal steed's side. "Such quick and sturdy work. We are grateful."

"For your services," added his brother, handing Celebrimbor a few coins. Talion noted that they glinted suspiciously like gold – far too high a payment for a mere horseshoe. Neither of them said anything, however. At least, Celebrimbor pocketed them without any further comment.

The twins made short work of saddling their steeds and mounted them in eerie synchronicity, peering down at Talion and Celebrimbor from their horses' backs.

"Thanks again for your swift and excellent help," said one of them – Elrohir perhaps? – and extended a hand from his heart in a gesture of gratitude.

"Indeed, it almost seems as if it had been the will of the Valar that we were so close to your home. Perchance, our meeting was destined."

Celebrimbor laughed politely, and Talion wondered if it had really been a joke or the twins' true belief, though they both also smiled and laughed, perfectly harmonizing their voices.

"Farewell."

"Namárië."

The twin Elves' silhouettes had long since left Talion's sight, lost between the shades of trees, though clearly still perceivable to Elvish senses, when Celebrimbor finally moved, his polite expression falling from his face like ashes.

"What did they say?" he demanded to know, and gripped Talion's elbow with one scorching hot hand. "Were they here for a purpose? Do they know who we are?"

Talion shook off his hand, protesting.

"Ow. I don't think so. They were just riding out and one of their horses lost their shoe. It was bad luck." He hissed and rubbed his elbow. "No need to assault me for it."

Celebrimbor's face paled.

"Apologies, Talion. I did not mean to."

"Well you did, and you needn't worry about being found out by these princelings. You're welcome."

Wounded, and suddenly angry, Talion stomped back into the house, intending to grab his hunting gear and disappear into the woods until his mood had cooled some. Today had all been a little much, honestly, and though he was here voluntarily, even cherishing Celebrimbor's companionship most of the time, the Elf was not easy to live with either.

But when he had finished tying his bundle, he heard a floor board creak directly behind him. Fuming, he froze in his movements.

"You're hovering," he growled and turned around.

Celebrimbor was stood there, staring at his hands. He said nothing for a few long moments, though Talion had experience with the way Elves sometimes perceived time. Pauses meant very little to them. So, he waited.

"You know," Celebrimbor finally said, his eyes still trained at his hands, "I only wear this apron to protect my clothing, not myself, from the forge's heat. I never needed to wear gloves, even when handling molten gold, except to keep my hands from getting dirty. They say that the House of Fëanor is gifted with fire. And so, fire cannot harm us."

Talion frowned but kept waiting. There had to be a point to this. Finally, Celebrimbor sighed and dropped his arms, instead shifting his gaze to Talion's elbow, where before he had gripped him. He wondered whether there would be bruising tomorrow, or whether it would manifest as a burn.

"I hurt you. I did not mean to, yet I did. I was angry, and afraid, and I hurt you. And with the part of myself that I renounced, again and again, yet still it defines me. I find no apology sufficient, except to- …" He interrupted himself, swallowing visibly. "Except to offer you that I shall leave. I shall find shelter elsewhere, if that were your wish. I lost myself to fear and rage before, and I left you to die in Mordor. It cannot happen again. I would do anything in my power to prevent it."

Neither of them said anything, both avoiding eye contact with the other. Until Talion could bear it no longer and slowly, hesitantly took Celebrimbor's hands in his. Turning them this way and that, he examined the texture of his finger pads and the breadth of his palms. He scrutinized his joints and knuckles, finding not a single flaw.

"These are your hands, Celebrimbor. They are warm, always. With them you have forged Rings of Power and jewels too beautiful to behold. You have slain your enemies with them. But you also greeted me with them, when we first met here in the Undying Lands. You have woken me with them when I slept for too long and you got impatient. You held mine with them, giving me comfort and strength when otherwise I found none."

"I have hurt you with them, too," Celebrimbor whispered, twisting as if to wrench them from Talion's grip. But he did not relent. And it said much that Celebrimbor, despite his superior strength, did not manage to part them.

"You apologized. And I forgive you."

"You shouldn't."

"Perhaps. That is for me to decide, though. For now, I would rather board a ship to take me back to Middle-earth than to send you away from our home," Talion said, emphasizing the word 'our'. For they had built this house together; this was their life, their habits and wishes and needs fitting together in carefully planned and negotiated pieces. Nothing short of the second coming of Sauron shall disturb this, as far as Talion was concerned.

"You are too noble and generous, as always, Talion. I do not deserve your forgiveness, nor do I deserve your affection and care."

"That is for me to decide as well. I shall forgive whomever I so choose, and I shall care for anyone I wish. You have been my companion, my friend, for long, arduous lifetimes in Middle-earth. I do not see that changing, now that we are in the Blessed Realm."

Celebrimbor's face twisted, before the last of his anxious tension fled his body.

"I shall defer to your wisdom, then, though I see none myself. Only that you are foolish for trusting me, when my nature is deceptive and corrupted. But I cannot sway you, I never could."

With a sigh, Talion drew him close and embraced him, hoping to convey what he felt with touch rather than words. Perhaps, if the mind was too clouded with doubt, the body would recognize that Talion spoke truthfully and ardently.

"Stay with me, always," Talion whispered, Celebrimbor's dark hair smooth against his cheek.

"And if one day you left me or sent me away," replied he, finally reciprocating the embrace, "I shall fade away once more and return to the Halls of Mandos. For without you, there is no solace in these lands. Not in the warmth of sunshine or the sweet, clear water. Not in the night sky so clear more stars than I have ever seen are visible, shining in holy glory. Not in the whispering fire of my forge, ever tempting me to attempt grander, more ambitious designs."

Talion turned away his face to hide his tears, feeling great sorrow for both of their loneliness. They were afraid, lost souls, alone and adrift in darkness. In uncertainty. Both of them walked this land, a fear in their hearts that they did not belong, not truly. They did not belong in paradise.

But they belonged together.

"If you are amenable," Talion said after a while, in which his arms grew tired even of holding onto his only companion. "If you have the time and will. Perhaps I could use your sharper eyes and ears to help me find some larger game than rabbits."

"Of course. I shall always help you if I can."

They drew apart, Celebrimbor's eyes drawn to where no doubt tears had left their mark on Talion's face. Then, in a gesture not unlike a confused moth drawn to a lamp, he touched his cheeks to Talion's, who chuckled uncertainly.

"Alright then, let us see how well my arrows work with your bow."

This brought a gleam back into Celebrimbor's gaze, and he smiled in a way only too familiar to Talion. After all, he had seen this expression many times, on a Wraith so alike yet different from the Elf now standing before him. It was the smile of a hunter.

"They shall work very well together indeed," he said, unwavering in his belief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Translations in order of appearance:_  
>  Minë lambë lá ná farëa - (Q.) One language is never enough  
> Na quilda, melinya - (Q.) Be calm, my dear  
> Mellyn-nín - (S.) My friends  
> Elleth/Ellith - (S.) Female Elf/Elves  
> Ellon/Ellyn - (S.) Male Elf/Elves  
> Hanta - (Q.) Thanks  
> Almien - (Q.) Cheers  
> Mae govannen - (S.) Well met  
> Na lim, melitse - (Q.) Be clear (focus), my sweet  
> Namárië - (Q.) Farewell
> 
> Wow I didn't realize I had used that much vocab. Sorry guys!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me! Thank you everyone so much for such a warm welcome into this fandom and this ship - I did not expect this at all. Please don't expect updates to come as quickly as this one, I really just wanted to thank you all and give myself a little birthday present so to speak xD I'll probably regret this later but I don't care.
> 
> Translations for Quenya and Sindarin in the end notes (I hope it works this time). And brace yourselves for old timey wimey Early Modern English pronouns in the manner of Shakespeare. Old Elves are old.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was rare to catch an Elf sleeping, if it could even be called such. They did not need much of it, for one, and not for long. And to Talion, sleep constituted of a bed, or some similar arrangement that allowed for comfortable rest; meanwhile, he had several times by now caught Elves 'sleeping' when standing up or even walking at one memorable occasion. Furthermore, he thought that sleep ought to be indicated by a closing of the eyes, yet Elves refused to do so. They kept staring ahead with a vacant expression, sometimes blinking slowly, sometimes not even that. They even all but stopped breathing.

It was, to put it mildly, quite disturbing to see. For one, Talion thought it resembled the empty gaze of the dead far too much, no matter how many times he reminded himself that this was a normal occurrence.

Catching Celebrimbor in the act was always deeply unsettling. Even more so early in the morning.

Talion kept to a strict regimen of sleep himself, maintaining a healthy rhythm of wakefulness and slumber that allowed for him to enjoy the always bright and pleasant days. While he was dreaming in bed, he knew, Celebrimbor usually finished more time-consuming work or attended chores that did not need or were above Talion's capabilities to help. One notable morning, he woke up to a brand-new shed behind the house, constructed with timber so smooth, he found no seams, no edges at all.

"Celebrimbor the carpenter, have you forsaken your beloved metals?" he teased, laughing at his inaudible, grumbled response.

However, since Talion was more or less absent each night, it would make sense that Celebrimbor also would take the time to rest himself. Yet he always did so shortly before dawn, which usually led to Talion waking in the morning only to discover him lying slumped on the floor of the kitchen, curled up next to the furnace of his forge, or even on top of the roof. The worst thing about it was that nothing could ever wake him, not voices, not touch, not even stray sparks of embers that threatened to set him on fire.

This time, Talion blearily stumbled out of bed, only to trip over something on the floor that turned out to be Celebrimbor, stretched out at the foot of the bed like a rug. Talion cursed, heart beating rapidly in his chest at the sight. His limbs were now splayed, comically, if not for the close resemblance to a corpse.

Continually cursing and not bothering to lower his voice – nothing would wake the Elf after all – he went about his morning routine, washing and shaving himself, getting dressed and eating his breakfast.

Still, Celebrimbor was not awake.

Now he was worried and feeling slightly guilty for first trampling him and then letting him just lie on the ground like that. It wasn't his fault that the Elf had chosen such an unfortunate spot to sleep, now was it? Giving him such a fright, too! But then he caught sight of a foot through the doorway, angled in a manner that sent a shiver down Talion's spine.

"He's not dead, he's not dead, he's not dead," he muttered to himself, adding another dollop of honey to his tea. It did not help calm his nerves. "Damn it."

Finally, he had enough of this. He stomped into the bedroom and knelt to lift Celebrimbor's slack body into his arms, fighting off terrible visions of a slit throat and blood clotting in his hair. Neither the lack of visible breathing, nor the absence of Celebrimbor's usual heat, and especially the eerie weightlessness of the body helped in dispelling any of Talion's horrific apparitions. Eyes clenched shut, he carried him to the bed, where he roughly stuffed him under the covers. Bundled up under the blankets, he looked more like a sleeping person. If only he were breathing.

"Please, wake up," Talion whispered.

Nothing happened.

Angrily, Talion grabbed a chair from the kitchen area and sat on it right next to the bed, staring fumingly down at Celebrimbor's still form. However, the longer nothing happened, the more he struggled to maintain his anger.

"Is this how you feel whenever I sleep in late?" he asked. "No that can't be, because I don't look _dead_ when I sleep. Also, why would you be this fatigued, we haven't done anything particularly exhausting. You're doing this on purpose, aren't you? I understand now, just wake up." After a beat he added: "Please."

The morning passed by, shadows shifting as the sun made its journey across the sky. Talion remained sitting in his chair, watching over Celebrimbor's slumber. Eventually, his anger faded away, leaving only worry in its place. When finally, he heard a soft intake of breath, and the lump beneath the covers shifted a little, he only felt joy and relief.

"Celebrimbor," he called out, "you are awake!"

He expected the Elf to rise, looking as pristine as ever, and to give him a look of mild contempt or irritation for the insinuation that anything was amiss. However, after the initial burst of movement, nothing else followed.

"Celebrimbor?"

After a grumble, Celebrimbor finally sat upright, though he was blinking blearily, and his hair was mussed. Concerned, Talion crept closer.

"Celebrimbor, are you alright?"

"Hm?" He rubbed his temples. "Why am I in your bed?"

"Well, I couldn't leave you on the floor. You've been sleeping all morning. I was just about to start making lunch."

"Oh, really? Well alright, I have work to do."

Talion gawked in disbelief, frozen in his spot for a second before he regained his senses.

"Is that all you have to say?" he called after Celebrimbor, who stopped in the doorway, hands caught combing his wayward hair. "I was worried about you. If there is something wrong, I want you to tell me."

"There's- …" He sighed and turned around. "There is nothing wrong, Talion. I am sorry for giving you a fright."

"You should be! And well, this isn't normal, is it? Perhaps you should see a healer."

"No, this isn't- … I just- …"

Talion waited, seeing Celebrimbor flustered, or at least wanting for words for likely the first time in their long, long acquaintance.

"I was dreaming," said he, finally. "I never dream. Or rather, the few occasions where I did dream, they were prophetic dreams, visions sent to warn me of events that were yet to come to pass. One such dream warned me – too late, but it warned me – of … of Sauron's manipulations. It prompted me to send away Nenya, my Ring."

"Alright. So, what did you dream of today?"

Celebrimbor's face fell.

"Birds. And scales."

Talion snorted, despite himself, and relaxed.

"That's all? I didn't think a few birds would disturb you so. If it is really nothing more, then alright, I believe you."

"It's not that simple, I'm afraid. Those dreams … they are not true visions of the future. I am not gifted with foresight, as other Eldar are. Mine are difficult to decipher, usually filled with metaphors and symbolism rather than straightforward predictions."

"So …"

"Birds could mean many things," Celebrimbor continued. "It depends on the type of bird. In this case, they were eagles."

"And the scales? Do you mean snake scales?"

"No. Scales, as in the scales of justice." He frowned. "Weighing. Measuring punishment and retribution in accordance with the law."

Flummoxed, Talion sat back in his chair. This was all a bit ridiculous to him, and really far too much after dealing with his anxieties the entire morning.

"Eagles and scales. What do you make of this?"

"I think …" Celebrimbor leaned against the doorway, suddenly looking exhausted and pale. "I fear that the dream is warning me of the Valar. That they will soon find us and punish us for having entered their lands – unjustly so, in their eyes, and according to their laws."

Talion swallowed.

"And their punishment?"

"Me, they will likely send to the Halls of Mandos again, from whence I should not have been released. Or not so soon. And you will go … wherever the souls of Men are destined to go. It is a fate unknown to any but the past dead and the Valar, and Eru Illúvatar Himself."

"They- … They would send me back to- …" Talion gasped, collapsing into himself. Suddenly, all strength had left his limbs, and his ears filled with a ringing sound. His hands felt numb, as he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to contain the emptiness hollowing him out.

"… -ion? Talion? Can you hear me?"

With a wheeze, he came back to his senses, feeling dizzy and cold. Except for the warmth enveloping him, living and breathing. He burrowed his face in the soft fabric his cheek was nestled against and stopped holding back his tears.

"You know the fate of Men."

He laughed hollowly.

"I have seen it," he confirmed. "I do not want it."

"But what of your family? Your wife and son? Do you not wish to be reunited with them?"

Talion found the strength to weakly shake his head.

"There is no reunion for us. Only the abyss."

He felt Celebrimbor shudder and tighten his arms around Talion.

"Do you wish to … tell me of it? I would offer to recount to you my experiences in the Halls of Mandos in return. Perhaps it might help. If we were to share our memories and fears, that is."

"No. Well, yes. But I don't want to do it right now."

Celebrimbor nodded and gently maneuvered them both until they were lying side by side on top of the unmade bed, facing each other. Talion shuddered, missing the warmth of him all around him. He would just have to make do with both of his hands entangled with Celebrimbor's, and their knees knocking together.

"Let me tell you of the Halls anyway," Celebrimbor offered.

"Sure. I will listen."

"Hm." He seemed to gather his thoughts, absentmindedly rubbing his thumbs over the backs of Talion's hands. "Perhaps it is difficult to explain to one who is not one of the Eldar. For we are two separate, yet unified entities, the fëa and the hröa. The soul and the body, yet neither of those things. What you saw while I was a Wraith was not my fëa, but rather a diminished form of both, as I am now. But when we die or fade, the fëa is supposed to separate itself from the hröa, and travel to the Halls of Mandos."

Talion hummed.

"Then why did yours not do that?"

"It happens sometimes, when the manner of death is … very violent."

"Oh." Talion swallowed. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to- …"

"It's alright. Alacaurë. This is important to understand. My death was not normal. Even other Elves, slain in battle, would flee their hröa immediately and be summoned to the Halls. But in my despair and fury, in my thirst for vengeance, I clung to both my fëa and hröa instead, making me a Wraith."

"Should there not be more Wraiths then? If it is merely a matter of will?"

"No. It requires a great deal of power, and will, as you say. Or a great deal of corruption and influence from another, more powerful than the self." Celebrimbor paused. "Even then, for a long time I was unaware. Aimless. Incorporeal. It was only when I met you that I regained clarity."

"Me?"

"Yes. But I was to tell you for the Halls of Mandos, no? So, after death, the fëa of any Elf is meant to manifest in the Halls, where they will be healed and cleansed, and if they be worthy, they will be offered to be reincarnated in a body that is exactly as the one they lived in before. That is the simple explanation of it all.

"You remember that it is only the fëa, without the hröa, yes? This means that the Halls are no halls as such. They are a realm beyond the physical, where souls may dwell and be cognizant without a body to house them. This means that the Halls are a place that is no place. There are no walls, no floors, no ceilings. There are, after all, no eyes to see them. No, it is … like the faintest memory of the time before birth. A feeling of warmth and comfort, no matter one's own pain. There are no words, and no real telling of the time that has passed.

"And at the end of it, there is the rebirth. In my case, I awoke, alone and disoriented, in what I now know are the Pastures of Yavanna. Without direction, I found my way north, to the Calacirya, where you know I found you."

"That doesn't sound so bad at all," Talion said.

Celebrimbor sighed, shifting closer, until their arms, too, were entwined.

"That is because I did not tell you the manner through which the Halls cleanse a fëa. During my time there – days, or years, or centuries, I could not tell you – I relived all that had pained and marked me during my lifetime. The sundering from my family, the grief of hearing of my father's death, watching my mother's mourning. The terror, after I learned of Sauron's deception, and our preparations for war, knowing we were doomed to die. My torture and death at his hands. It was sure to go on forever, until I was to meet these memories unflinchingly. Yet, the Halls released me, unfinished and still suffering into the Undying Lands."

"Suffering," Talion repeated, choking on the word as he reached out to touch Celebrimbor's cheek. It was unmarred, as smooth and pristine as any Elf's. Yet he could still clearly see the wounds and scars that death had left as marks upon the Wraith he had known for so long. When Celebrimbor flinched, Talion knew that he still saw them too.

"When I met you," he continued hoarsely, "it was like the touch of cool water upon a burn. It has been so ever since."

"Why?" Talion asked, still caressing the unblemished skin beneath his thumb. "Do I not remind you of the horrors of Mordor?"

"Yes. And no. For of that time, I remember the most that my will was fraying, slowly grinding down to nothing, until I was corrupted. Yet it was you who, time and time again, drew me back from the precipice." Celebrimbor's eyes fell closed. "It was the thought of you and your struggle to remain _good_ that sustained me when I clashed with Sauron atop the bannisters of Barad-dûr. It was my memory of you, and my grief and regret for having abandoned you that fueled me through years and years of battle. I knew that if I failed – I would have let you down. I would have let you die, for nothing. It would be my fault."

"It would not have been. Never, Celebrimbor. I cannot tell you of the fate of Men, not yet. But let me tell you of being a Nazgûl."

This time it was Celebrimbor who flinched, making a quiet sound as he reached out to comfort Talion.

"The Dark Lord told me that you had taken Isildur's ring. He … goaded me. Saying that sooner or later you would belong to him."

"And I did, for a while," Talion said, choking on the words. "I was tired. Worn out. I had no strength left to fight Isildur's ring. So, I became a Nazgûl, second only to the Witch-King himself.

"It was such a relief, when I felt the Dark Lord die, Celebrimbor. I sat upon a great fellbeast, flying above Mordor, above the Black Gate, when it happened. Below, I saw the assembled armies of Mordor, scattered and directionless without Sauron to command them. And I also saw the Free Peoples of Middle-earth there, soon to be victorious. I saw, among them, my King. The King of Gondor. And when I fell, there was only peace in my heart. Finally, we had defeated the Dark Lord. And I was free."

"But then- …"

"Then, I saw the abyss." Talion took a few fortifying breaths. "I will not return there. Not yet. If I can live out my life here, and live it to the fullest … Perhaps I will be ready. But I am not ready now. I cannot go there."

"I will not let them send you to this place," Celebrimbor said. He hesitated. "It is dangerous for me to swear an Oath, for one such has already destroyed my family, and many, many other families. Thus, I will not swear. But know that my word means equally as much."

"I know, and I am glad to have you."

"And I you."

And then the comfortable silence that grew between them was interrupted by a loud gurgling sound. Talion chuckled, then, and bashfully wiped his face clean of any remains of the tears he had shed before.

"I think I am hungry now."

Celebrimbor laughed as well, rising slowly, as if reluctant to relinquish his hold of Talion.

"Let me prepare some of those mushrooms you gathered yesterday. I think I know of a way to arrange them in a way that will please you."

"Oh really? Not like that other time when you- …"

"Hush!" Celebrimbor cried, jumping to escape the room. "I know what I am doing this time."

Still chuckling a little in remembrance of said incident, Talion remained in bed for a few more moments. He sniffed to clear his nose, clogged with tears. He wondered whether he truly did not deserve this life. He was happy, here, with Celebrimbor. They both were. Was this something forbidden? Perhaps Celebrimbor's dream was just that, or its significance was another, related to something they could not know yet.

Only time could tell. And the scents wafting in from the kitchen were delicious, so Talion abandoned all morose thoughts and went to eat whatever treat Celebrimbor had prepared for him.

///

They met the Lady Idhrenil in a teahouse in the upper levels of Tirion, a clearly superior establishment that suited her and her sensibilities greatly. Talion felt slightly out of place and uncomfortable among cream-white cushioned chairs, a silver-white carpeted floor, and snowy, delicate cups made from a nearly see-through material that the lady called _porcelain_. Even the word sounded incredibly high-class.

"You have not encountered this before?" she wondered, sipping elegantly from her own cup.

"No, I don't think I've ever seen anything this fine," he replied truthfully. He held his own very carefully, afraid to drop it or crush it – it seemed so damned delicate. Stealing a glance at Celebrimbor, who had been strangely silent even for his quiet, stoic self, Talion noted that he too, was cradling his cup very gingerly.

"I hope you do not expect me to craft tools for your husband in this material," he said dryly.

The Lady Idhrenil threw her head back in laughter, sounding as lovely as brass bells and spring birds. Her dark hair shone in a stray glint of sunshine, and Talion nearly rolled his eyes. It was as if the universe conspired to make some Elves just all the more beautiful than they already were.

"Oh, not at all, dear master Calatindo. The Midsummer gift should show a great appreciation for his art and be reasonably beautiful of course. But hammers and chisels from porcelain are just unnecessary. Say," she said and then paused to take another sip, "do you perchance know of a goldsmith? I thought of adorning the tools, instead of leaving them in plain steel."

Celebrimbor's eye twitched, and he carefully set down his cup of tea, untouched.

"I can do the work myself, my Lady, if that pleases you."

Surprised, Talion threw him a look, raising his eyebrows as if to ask: _are you sure?_ Celebrimbor had avoided materials such as gold and jewels all this time, mostly out of fear, or so Talion thought.

But then, perhaps it was just Celebrimbor's pride. He may not want what he thought of as inferior work to mar his own. And, fair enough, there were likely only few who would match him in skill, especially when it came to gold- and jewel-smithery.

"It would please me indeed! I was worried I would have to find someone else to do the adornments, but if you can finish those as well … I am relieved."

Celebrimbor, clearly pleased as well, continued to present the lady with a few sketches he had made and some samples to give her an impression of the finished product. Talion mostly ignored this part of the negotiations, as he always did, and focused instead on the delicious, if horribly fragile little cakes that had been offered alongside their tea. Their flavors were all delicate and fruity and flowery – not his usual taste. But they did go along wonderfully with the beverages.

After he had nearly cleared the entire plate of pastries, the negotiations seemed to come to an end. He listened to Celebrimbor haggle a little over the price, but since this work would involve gold and other more precious materials, he was not familiar with what was appropriate or not. Eventually, they settled on a price that seemed far too high to Talion for a simple set of chisels and a hammer, but the Lady Idhrenil and Celebrimbor both seemed happy with it. He supposed that this was all that mattered.

"We must excuse ourselves now," said Celebrimbor, "there are some errands we must run. Such are the dangers of living outside of town."

"It has been lovely seeing the both of you again – and I cannot wait to see the finished commission!"

The Lady Idhrenil offered them both her hand to kiss, which Celebrimbor did with an air of proficiency, and Talion with some awkwardness. He sincerely hoped she hadn't noticed.

"You said our stocks are running low on some things," Celebrimbor said then as they stepped outside the teahouse.

"Right. We should be able to get it all from the market."

"Honey being the main item on your list?"

Talion squawked in protest and knocked a fist against Celebrimbor's shoulder.

"It is a very important ingredient, I will have you know."

Laughing, he took Talion's hand.

"Come, this way, little bumblebee."

"Did you just call me fat?"

"No." Celebrimbor hummed, far too pleased with himself. "I called you hairy."

"That's it, I am going back home. This was the last straw, or so I swear, if you will not stop teasing me about my sweet tooth, I will- …" Talion stopped himself, laughing, vaguely noticing that they were drawing looks. He continued, quieter: "I will stop putting that secret dollop of honey into your bitter tea that you never noticed. But ever since I started doing it you haven't been wrinkling your nose at the taste."

"Outrageous!" Celebrimbor laughed and put an arm around Talion's waist, nearly lifting him off his feet. "You have been keeping secrets from me. Deceiving me!"

They were just about to enter the market, a very busy, sweeping terrace on one of the lower tiers of Tirion, when suddenly there was a voice calling out.

"Tyelpë? Tyelpë!"

Celebrimbor stiffened, eyes widening in horror. Swiftly, he drew Talion even closer and maneuvered them past passersby and the first stalls of the market.

"What- …?"

"Someone recognized me," he hissed, continuing to half-drag Talion in a wild pattern past stalls laden with fabrics, spices, toys, bread, fruit, vegetables and oh, there was his favorite honey vendor, but they rushed past her, until Celebrimbor finally let them rest in a quiet alley.

"Why would you do that, you just made yourself look even more suspicious," Talion panted, out of breath.

"It may not have mattered if it were anyone," Celebrimbor whispered, still looking shaken. His hand first tightened on Talion's hip, and then released him entirely. "I might have argued that they were mistaken. But I think that was my mother. No one else would call me thus, still."

"You just dragged us through the market to escape from your mother?" Talion cried. "This is ridiculous, why are you afraid to see her? She would never tell on us, I am sure she just misses you terribly, and you her."

Celebrimbor grimaced.

"She died a horrible death, and it was my fault. I could not prevent it – even worse, I was the only reason she died at Sauron's hands alongside my sister. I cannot face her. It is a shame greater than anything, to have betrayed her so."

"I am sure she has forgiven you." Talion took his hand and tugged on it. Of course, Celebrimbor was unmoved, remaining as anchored to the ground as a mountain. "Come, let us find her."

"No, Talion. I- … I think I shall wait here if you would make the purchases you need on your own?"

"I don't agree with this. But alright. I know I can't change your mind."

Grumbling, he walked off and into the thick of the market. Elven markets were a tricky thing, he found, or perhaps it was just because he was a Man pretending to be one of them. But Elves did not bump into each other, ever, no matter how crowded things got, and Talion just did not have the ability to elegantly and smoothly bypass his fellow marketgoers like the rest of them. And this time, he did not have Celebrimbor with him to part the sea for him, as it were. At least he knew where to go, and he hoped having a clear destination in mind and determined steps would be enough to let the Elves surrounding him do the evasion for him.

He made it to the first few stalls, buying ingredients and other items for their stocks at home. He was still not used to haggling with Elves, who had endless patience and a quick tongue, especially when they greeted him in Sindarin, expecting him to be able to carry a witty conversation in said language. Worse were the vendors speaking Quenya, but though they sometimes put up their nose at the younger, in Middle-earth born Elves, they usually relented and at least spoke Sindarin, though it was quite heavily accented in most cases. At least this mean they would in turn not notice Talion's own Gondorian dialect. By the time Talion had gone halfway through his list of purchases, he simply hoped that he wasn't too red in the face from the constant stress of being forced to speak a foreign language the way a native speaker would.

Finally, he got to the stall where they sold the honey he so liked – and curse Celebrimbor for making him second-guess his love of the nectar, even in joking – and the Elves there greeted him so kindly and joyously, he forgot all about his worries and fears.

He was just putting the jar of honey into his pack, which was almost bursting full of mostly food and some fabrics by now, when someone tried to get his attention with a quick touch to his elbow.

"Yes?" he said distractedly, twiddling with the clasps of his pack.

"Pardon me for approaching thee thus," said a warm, gentle, female voice. "But art thou a companion of my son's?"

Talion froze, hands still tangled in the clasps. Then, he looked up, coming face to face with none other than Celebrimbor's mother.

She looked radiant and beautiful in the way older Elves usually did. Like the light of the sun just touched her in a different way than it did the younger ones, even Celebrimbor. Her face was familiar to Talion through the memories he had shared with Celebrimbor, and she still looked exactly the same. There was a nobility in her features, and her golden hair was as striking as he remembered, no less so as it was held back by a marvelous circlet made from silver.

"I- …I do not know who you mean, my Lady," he finally had the wherewithal to stammer.

She smiled kindly, a bit indulgently, but also a bit sadly.

"I am High Lady Colfingwen, daughter of Glindis, of the House of Fëanor."

"Amath," he replied and extended his hand from his heart with a bow. "Son of Limdir, my Lady. Of no House."

She looked at him for a few moments, her light brown eyes so unlike Celebrimbor's, yet they held a similar kind of intensity. Talion gripped the straps of his pack a bit tighter and waited for her to continue.

"No House indeed," she said, and Talion listened to hear some sort of insult there, but he could not find one. "Thou art a Sindar? Or perhaps a Nandor, one of the Tawarwaith by thine coloring. Young. Born in Middle-earth."

"I was born in the Third Age," he confirmed, and chose not to comment on his heritage.

"How curious, then, to find thee consorting with my son. Who will evidently not meet with me."

Talion squirmed at her sharpening tone, debating with himself whether he should just tell her about Celebrimbor or whether he should lie. On the one hand, he thought Celebrimbor was making a mistake by not taking this opportunity to make amends and reconcile with his mother. On the other hand, he wanted to respect his wishes. It would be unfair to go against them in such a way.

Before he could say anything, however, Colfingwen straightened herself and glared at him thunderously, a dark frown upon her face.

"Tell me now, or who dost thou think thou art, a mere lowly- …!" she shouted. Before she could finish her insult and possibly strike him in her sudden ire, an arm pushed in front of Talion, forcing him back.

It was Celebrimbor, his shining dark hair all that Talion could see from his position, but the heat radiating off of him told him all that he needed to know to realize that he was furious. Around them, Elves stepped away, and Talion shifted, aware of all the eyes on them now that they had made a spectacle.

"Cease!" Celebrimbor growled. "You will not speak to him that way. Not now, not ever, but especially not in public like this."

Colfingwen seemed to collect herself a little, perhaps shocked by her son's interference, or perhaps by his ferocity. Her hands sought the shelter of her sleeves, and she lifted her chin, blinking rapidly.

"Tyelpë, onya," she whispered. "It really is you."

"Let us not discuss this here, lest we give these people even more to gossip about," Celebrimbor decided and gripped Talion's hand, confidently pulling him away and through the throng into a direction that would take them away from the crowded marketplace. Talion let it happen, still a little stunned and shaken. Neither of them checked to see whether Colfingwen was following them.

Once they happened upon a less busy street, Celebrimbor stopped and reached out to touch Talion's hair in a manner that would seem like a gesture of affection to anyone watching. He knew, however, in truth it was to check that his hair still covered the round tops of his ears.

"Willst thou not speak to me, yonyo? I apologize for my treatment of thine companion, yet it was only done in worry and longing to speak to thee."

Celebrimbor turned away, evading his mother's gaze.

"It is not that I am avoiding you, mother. I am ashamed."

"Ashamed? Oh, son of mine, child of mine – all that was dark and painful has been washed away by the grace of the Valar. What transpired in Middle-earth shall stay in Middle-earth. I only wish to be reunited with mine own flesh and blood. I love thee so, onya, and I have missed thee greatly. It has taken thee so long to pass through the Halls of Mandos … But now I am only glad that thou art here at last."

Talion saw Celebrimbor's grimace, hearing Colfingwen's misconception. Or rather, her ignorance of what had truly transpired. She did not know of Celebrimbor's time as a Wraith. She did not know of his battles in Mordor, or his fight against Sauron atop Barad-dûr. She did not know that he had, in fact, spent very little time in the Halls of Mandos.

Again, the question arose: lie or truth?

"It gladdens me to hear this," Celebrimbor said, finally, voice thick with emotion. "I too, have missed you greatly. You, and Nínimel both. How is she?"

"She has grown and married, a minstrel by the name of Lossenor, and born him two beautiful children, Elenlaer and Cedhron. They have reached adulthood as well, and Cedhron has decided to live in Alqualondë for the time being."

"That is- … It pleases me greatly to know that she has found happiness."

Talion, not having turned away from Colfingwen, watched her cautiously approach and reach out a hand to touch her son's cheek. Seeing it coming too late, Celebrimbor flinched away from it.

"Willst thou not meet mine eye, yonyo, meldanya, dearest of mine heart?" she said, aggrieved.

"No, mother. We have many errands to run, still, and little time to do so if we wish to return home before sunset. If you will excuse us."

Colfingwen nodded, a deep frown on her fair face. Once more, her hand slipped into her sleeve, and she straightened her back and raised her chin until she was the picture of a composed, regal Elf once more.

"Thou dost not live in Tirion, then?"

"No." Celebrimbor hesitated. "We have made our home further West."

This time, Colfingwen's gaze flickered to Talion before gliding away.

"But thou shalt return to Tirion, and I will find thee again. I take heart in this." She almost made as if to reach out again but stopped herself. "It was wonderful to see thee again, yonyo. Telperinquar, my fair, my brave. And it was … agreeable to make acquaintance with thine friend. We shall see each other soon."

The High Lady nodded once and then turned, gliding away as if she were fog upon a still, reflective lake. Her bright hair was visible for a long time between the majority of dark-haired Elves, and only when it disappeared completely did Celebrimbor seem to unfreeze from his rigor.

"Come, there are materials I need," he said and took Talion's hand in his again to guide him through the winding streets of Tirion.

Talion let the silence between them grow, not minding it himself, and thinking that Celebrimbor probably needed it to think and digest the emotions meeting his mother had surely stirred up. It was only when they entered a back-alley shop when Celebrimbor finally broke his silence, but only to order his materials. Gold, mostly, not in bulk but pressed thinly into sheets and wires. Silver, measured by weight, and only a small quantity of it. And a single gemstone that he inspected carefully, speaking with the vendor at length over its cut and quality, as far as Talion understood.

He did not know much of jewels and gems, but it was heartening to see Celebrimbor still so absorbed in his craft it even made him forget his greatest worries. They eventually settled on a dark red ruby, apparently to suit the colors of Lady Idhrenil's House emblem, and Celebrimbor seemed very satisfied with it.

Outside the shop, Celebrimbor offered to carry the heavier pack, entrusting Talion with the package that contained the gold leaf, gold wire, the raw silver and the ruby.

"I'm honored," Talion said, only half joking. When Celebrimbor did not react, he frowned. "I am sorry. I thought that seeing your mother would perhaps ease your mind. But I was wrong."

"It is not that – or not only. I worry that she will tell my sister, who will tell her family, and eventually everyone will know that I am back. And," Celebrimbor groaned, "why did I reveal to her that we live out West, I should have just kept silent on the matter. They will surely go looking for us, Nínimel at the very least. She could never leave well enough alone."

"But isn't it better now that the cat's out of the bag, so to speak? You won't have to hide anymore, at least not out of fear of encountering your family. And you might even get to see them more often now."

"I am nothing more than a link in our ancestral line of terrible mistakes," Celebrimbor insisted. "Who would even want to belong to a family like this? No, it is better at least the women be kept far away from the chaos me and my forefathers have wrought."

Talion disagreed but bit his tongue. Colfingwen had seemed fierce enough, and she had had a choice in the entire matter. She had willingly married Celebrimbor's father, knowing of his history and choices, and still decided to love him and bear him a child. And Nínimel had only been a youth when she was killed – if now, in the Undying Lands, she had found herself a piece of happiness in a family of her own, whether or not she wished to be reunited with her long-lost brother was surely her choice too.

Instead of saying any of that, Talion instead argued: "You have drawn _me_ into your life, willing or not; and though now I am no longer bound to you, I stay. And it is not out of any previous familial responsibility, as you might think with your mother and sister. No, it is because I care about you, and though you are an oftentimes callous and entirely sullen person with a foul temper, I know you care about me too. I think it is much the same for your family. They are willing to overlook anything, for their love of you."

Celebrimbor was strangely silent then, not in the way he'd been after having seen Colfingwen, or the way he got sometimes staring into the flames of his forge. It didn't seem like an entirely bad kind of silence either, so Talion let him, as they walked through the streets of Tirion, slowly making their way towards the gates and home.

"You care about me," said Celebrimbor finally, sounding oddly tilted and muted.

"Of course, why did you think I was living with you?"

"Well …" He blinked and looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. "Out of convenience?"

Talion raised his eyebrows.

"Really? I am sorry, but perhaps I was giving you too much credit. I thought you were smart, but it turns out you're really not." He paused and innocently said: "I mean, you're not putting up with me out of pity, are you?"

Celebrimbor snorted.

"No, why would you- …" Then his frown cleared. "Ah. I see."

"There. Think on that, maybe."

"I shall," said Celebrimbor, the words contemplative enough that Talion believed him.

///

Talion was absorbed in his reading, an epic poem written in Sindarin that was meant to help him to better keep to the grammar and metric structure of the language's pronunciation, but that he actually found he enjoyed reading. Gondorians grew up knowing some form of Sindarin, and Talion found it easy to understand the language's basics, yet the particular dialect that Men apparently spoke was markedly different from the ones Elves used, and he needed to readjust. Speaking was still the best method for it, but since he only had Celebrimbor for company most of the time, who was busy at the forge and preferred his native Quenya anyway, reading had become the best substitute.

As a child, Talion had struggled with learning his letters, and his adult life had not much need for that skill either. Reading Westron still caused him headaches if he kept at it too long, but for some strange reason he found the Tengwar script, any of its modes, much easier to comprehend.

"My grandfather invented Tengwar," Celebrimbor told him once, almost offhandedly, a slightly upset tilt to his mouth.

"Well, then there is at least one thing I am grateful to him for, aside from having a son that would eventually sire you and allow me to meet you."

Celebrimbor had no witty remark at the ready for that, and Talion counted this as a win in his unofficial book of scores kept between them.

This particular epic poem, despite the easier reading that the Tengwar scrip offered, was quite dense, as most Elven poetry was, and Talion had been keeping at it for several days already without seeming to make much headway, page number wise. Still, he enjoyed it immensely, finding himself so enraptured by the story and characters that he laughed out loud and cried in fury at some passages.

Despite having made his reading nest in a corner of Celebrimbor's forge, he often heard nothing of the loud noises his working made. He was so invested in the Tale of Naefaroth that he forgot to eat and drink – and even if Celebrimbor reminded him and brought him his meals, he'd just forget all over again. Eventually, Celebrimbor resorted to threats.

"I will tell you the ending if you do not eat your stew," he said sternly, making Talion scramble to wolf down his food, lest he waste more time than necessary which could be spent reading rather than doing anything else.

And once he found him trying to read in the darkness of his bedroom instead of sleeping, he threatened to burn his copy of the Tales and replace it with another one, written in Quenya but with Westron lettering. That alarmed him just enough to realize that he was being silly and go to sleep.

Still, the next morning he hung upon the words describing Naefaroth's adventures as early as breakfast, and they did not let him go until bedtime.

Never before had anything written tempted or engaged him this much. He remembered the teachings he had received as a child, the tomes of history that he thought were superfluous – he could find out the history of his kingdom and his people by listening to his parents or any of the elders around. And he knew that Ioreth had sometimes found the time to read prose or a bit of poetry here or there, but he himself was never tempted to delve into a fictional story this much.

"If by the end of this your grammar is still not perfect, I am giving up," Celebrimbor said one night, chin propped on his hand. He watched him as he was hunched over at the kitchen table, reading by the waning candle light. The words were said fondly, so Talion took no offense, but he had to admit that yes, his Sindarin was improving. But it was merely a byproduct of his intense immersion into the language, rather than any real work he felt he was doing. There were no sheets of grammar or scrolls full of exercises. Just reading. And he _enjoyed_ it.

"Did you enjoy this too when you read it?" Talion asked, for once managing to put the book down for a little bit. He felt that there was trouble brewing for the hero, and he rather wished to delay it for a while.

"It was part of my formal education, and as such, I did not particularly enjoy it," Celebrimbor admitted. "I like the story well enough. But I thought that the rhymes were a bit dusty. That may or may not have been because I was eager to get to the forge, though."

"All poetry seems dusty to me, but this one is bearable because of the story." Talion looked at the book, a well-used and quite cheap secondhand copy Celebrimbor must have picked up one time or another. "I used to think a story was only worth listening to; the shorter and the more poignant the better. Now, I find I quite enjoy that it isn't over just yet."

"Perhaps you were just a young, hot-blooded boy like I was when I was tasked with reading this."

Talion laughed.

"You mean now that we are old, we have the patience to actually enjoy things?"

"I wouldn't call you old, Talion, you are barely mature in Elven years. And even I am a mere Elfling compared to some of the ancients who live in Aman."

"That must be strange."

"Hm?"

"You will never catch up to them. Whereas we mortals all eventually get to be elders and chide the younger generations for their silly notions or remind them of the olden days when everything was better and brighter. Unless we are slain in battle or ravaged by disease, of course."

"This seems strange to me, not the other thing."

"Dying? Why? You've done it twice," Talion teased.

"True, but Elves live differently, not having age or sickness as a constricting measure to what we do. We are not afraid of things as mortals are."

"But do you not look up to your elders?"

"Of course."

"And do you not envy them of their wisdom and power, which will always be greater than yours?"

"No. Because there are those after me who look up to me," Celebrimbor said simply. "We are a succession, and each of us gets their time to burn bright. Elders though they may be, their time is over, and so is mine. In fact, with the Fourth Age, the Age of Men has begun. The strength of the Elves is fading, so we rest in the Undying Lands, waiting for Dagor Dagorath and the renewal of Arda in the Second Song."

Talion looked at his hands, thoughtful.

"But that is so far away."

"It is. And we know not what comes after."

He shook his head.

"I cannot comprehend this," he said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Celebrimbor open his mouth and then close it again. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Celebrimbor."

"I- … I was going to say that this is why the fate of Men is different. You were not made to comprehend the fate of the Elves. But then I thought perhaps mentioning it would upset you."

Talion took a deep breath, searching his own heart. He was not upset at the mention of the fate of Men. Well, he was. He was scared of it, and the mere thought summoned images of the abyss and the fear he felt when he was there. But it did not consume him.

"Does it upset you?" he asked in return.

"You have not told me much about the fate of Men. I only know that knowing it has affected you – that you are afraid of it. And it angers me. But it is not our place to know." Celebrimbor paused, his gaze turning soft and distant in contemplation. "Perhaps it is a matter of faith. Whether or not we trust the Valar to know best what we need and what must be done. And I know not whether I have enough faith to overcome my anger over your hurt."

"Faith," Talion echoed, laughing bitterly. "It is a strange thing, that. I have faith in my friends. I don't know whether I have faith in the all-powerful, all-seeing and all-knowing beings that I know dwell in lands not far from here."

Celebrimbor stayed silent, though his gaze had refocused, resting pensively on Talion.

"Do you?" Talion asked. "Have faith in the Valar? In matters aside from the fates of Men and Elves, I mean."

"I say it matters little to them whether I do or do not have faith," Celebrimbor replied, almost gently.

"Why?"

"Because they, too, can do nothing but have faith in the Great Music."

"So, you are saying … this is the Will of God? Of Eru Illúvatar? All of it?"

"I think," Celebrimbor said, "that perhaps nobody really knows. And that is the nature of faith."

"But- …" Talion put his head in his hands, feeling as if a great headache was coming on. Perhaps it was of a less literal sense than an actual migraine. It was more akin to the dread he used to feel sometimes, thinking about implications far beyond him; like the fight between Gondor and Mordor, an endless battle between good and evil. He startled, when a warm hand touched his chin, tilting it up.

"Greater philosophers than us have debated this question," Celebrimbor chuckled. "And they have found no answer either. Perhaps we should let it be."

"Yes, that might be for the best," Talion groaned, his words dissolving into a long yawn towards the end.

"That is your cue."

"Mm, yes. Bed. And more Naefaroth tomorrow."

Celebrimbor spat out a string of words that suspiciously sounded like curses.

"I swear, I will start hiding that book."

"You would hinder my continued education of the Sindarin language?" Talion gasped in mock outrage.

"Yes." Celebrimbor sniffed, affronted, and rose from his chair, brushing some imaginary crumbs from his clothes. "You do not pay me enough attention anymore, since you have your nose stuck in that book."

Talion laughed and stood as well, reaching out to stroke Celebrimbor's hair despite his arching and twisting as he was trying to avoid the touch. It was only to tease, though. Eventually, he relented and let Talion run his fingers through those dark, smooth tresses.

"You are like a big, surly cat, I swear. You ignore me, fine. But woe betide you if I don't spoil you with attention and food and tea."

Celebrimbor actually hissed and moved as if to slap Talion's hand away – in truth it was only a gentle touch, and he watched, amused, as Celebrimbor went to the door, grabbed his apron, and dramatically stepped outside.

"Sleep well. I shall work in the meantime."

The door was closed again before Talion could reply. In the following silence, his eye was drawn to the book of epic poetry on the table.

"Just a few more verses won't hurt," he told himself and opened the tome on the page where he had left off.

///

"Alright, that's enough."

Talion yelped, crushing his book to his chest when he felt arms wrapping around his waist and just _hauling_ him out of his seat.

"What are you doing," he shouted, kicking his legs feebly. He did not want to hurt Celebrimbor, but he also would not just accept being lifted like a stray kitten like that. When Celebrimbor started shaking him, however, his qualms went out the window and he slammed one foot into a shin, or perhaps a knee. Whichever was nearest.

"Drop the book," Celebrimbor grumbled, unfazed by the kick.

"No! Put me down, you brute."

Talion staggered, abruptly back on his feet – and then things happened very quickly. With no idea how he got there, he lay on his stomach on the floor, the book gone, and with a foot lightly pressing on his back.

"You haven't slept all night; I knew I should have checked on you, or at least taken the damn book away," Celebrimbor sighed above.

Talion growled and squirmed, but only got pressed down harder.

"Let me up! How did you even do that, what kind of magic was it?"

"No magic, just an old grappling technique." A chuckle. "My father was well-versed in them, having had six brothers. In this, he taught me well."

Finally, the foot lifted off Talion's back, and he crawled into an upright position. The entire thing was undignified. He glared first at Celebrimbor, and then at the book cradled in his arm.

"Teach me that technique, then," he said. "If I can get the book back from you, you have to let me finish it. I'm almost through anyways."

Celebrimbor hummed in contemplation.

"Alright. Let it be a lesson in humility."

He walked outside, still holding the book. Turning his back on Talion like that rekindled his ire and he hurried after Celebrimbor, running to catch up with his unnaturally long steps. Feeling rebellious this morning, Talion immediately went to grab his poetry, only to be effortlessly sidestepped.

Humility, alright.

"You are tired," Celebrimbor remarked.

"Well, and you're a- … a …"

"Don't hurt yourself."

Talion growled, outraged and leapt at Celebrimbor. He wanted a tussle? Fine, Talion had lots of practice wrestling with his comrades-in-arms – it was one of their favorite pastimes. He'd show the Elf.

Before he could within reach, however, Talion's hand was tightly grabbed, twisted, and he felt himself spinning through the air. He slammed into the ground, hard, face first.

"What in the armpits of Sauron," he groaned.

"No punching. We are grappling in the fashion of Elves, which I am teaching you. Or did you forget?"

"Ouch."

Talion rolled onto his back and blinked up at the sky, frowning when Celebrimbor's face obscured his view. He was smiling. Of course, the bastard.

"Show me that move again," Talion demanded, getting to his feet. "But slowly, so I can learn it."

"No. You will just have to pay attention."

Grab, twist, flight, and then crash.

"Damn it, Celebrimbor!"

This time, he had landed on his back. The force of it had not quite been enough to knock the breath out of him, but it was a close thing. He was sure to be bruised by the end of this. For now, his anger let him ignore the pain he was surely going to feel later. But the _humiliation_.

To make it worse, Celebrimbor was now calmly perched upon Talion, like a self-satisfied raven, his knees weighing down Talion's arms. He looked very, very smug about that. And the book was nowhere to be seen.

"How are you doing this," Talion whined.

"Practice. Alright, Talion, get out of this grip."

"You're not even holding me down, you're just sitting on me! Also, you're cheating, you are definitely heavier than usual, this is not permitted. Referee!"

"Hush. Concentrate. How would you get out of this?"

Talion huffed, tugging at his arms at first. No, they were being crushed beneath Celebrimbor's cheating weight. Then, he wiggled his hands, but pawing at grass did not help.

"I give up, I can't."

"Think, Talion. I am constricting your _arms_ ," Celebrimbor said, drawing out the last word and waving his own, free arms in the air. "With my legs." He shifted a little, putting even more weight on Talion's poor elbows.

"Ow, ow, ow, stop that. Alright, I'm thinking." That was a lie, he wasn't really thinking. And he knew that was the problem. So, he took a few deep breaths – barely, seeing as they were a little constricted by Celebrimbor goddamn _sitting_ on him – and concentrated.

"Legs," he blurted out. "My legs are free."

He kicked them experimentally a few times.

"Very good, Talion. And what can you do with them?"

"Well, you're too far away for me to boot you with them. Maybe I can- …" He drew his feet closer to himself, setting them squarely on the ground and pushed _up._ Finally, the pressure on his arms lessened, and he pulled them free.

"Well done. Now you have the advantage."

Talion did not need to be told twice. He used his weight and the leverage that the ground gave him to flip them over, more or less reversing their positions. He grabbed one of Celebrimbor's elbows and twisted it behind his back in a restraining grip. It was not at an angle that would hurt terribly, but it was the threat of pain that usually kept the victim unmoving.

"Ha! I've got you now, so give me the book and- …"

Before he could finish the sentence, the arm in his grip rotated, and he watched in horror as he was grabbed by the front _and_ the back of his tunic and just punted overhead.

"Damn it!"

"It's play and counter-play, Talion," Celebrimbor said calmly, standing over him without even a single hair out of place. "You left both of my hands unrestrained."

"Usually, that works," he cried, defensively, and struggled to get back on his feet. That was definitely going to become a bruise. If not on his ribs, then on his ego.

"I can tell you have never grappled with an Elf before."

"Then show me how."

Celebrimbor nodded and beckoned him closer.

"Slowly. Show me your attack again."

Talion hesitated for a moment, thinking. Then he reached out, making as if to grasp the collar of Celebrimbor's tunic, or perhaps his throat. Before he could even touch, his hand was gripped, and he froze.

"Don't," he barked out. But it was too late.

His hand got twisted, and his arm followed. This time it really was slower, so he felt the force of it transferring into his shoulder, into his body. And then he noticed that there was a second hand, pushing against his hip. The combined force lifted him into the air, where he was thrown about just long enough to do a full turn before he crashed into the ground, on his back again.

"If I had pushed harder, you would have fallen on your face," Celebrimbor said, having followed along with Talion's fall, now again sitting astride him. "That would lead to a different hold and a different way to get out of it; but let us follow this scenario for now."

Talion knew how to get out of this one, so he did the same as he did before, flipping them both over. Then, as he went for the arm hold, he hesitated. And took both arms to twist them behind Celebrimbor's back, this time leaning into it more, applying pressure and hopefully not causing too much pain.

"Much better," came Celebrimbor's commentary, slightly muffled by the grass in his face. "But you've still left me room for this."

Like trying to sit on an untamed caragor for the first time, Talion was bucked off, finding himself once more on his back with Celebrimbor on top of him. This time, his hands were pinned above his head. When he tried to flip them over, it still left his wrists restrained by Celebrimbor's hands.

"What do you do now?" he asked, still smirking, but this time he was much closer, his hair hanging like a dark curtain around both their faces. It tickled a little.

"Something with my legs, still, but I don't know what," Talion admitted.

"Alright. I will show you."

Surprisingly, Celebrimbor let go of his wrists and sat back – no, he lay on his back himself, arms stretched above his head. Catching up on the hint, Talion now knelt above him and grabbed Celebrimbor's wrists, pushing them against the ground.

"So, how are you going to do this?" he asked then, feeling slightly uncomfortable. He didn't know what it was that unnerved him all of a sudden. Perhaps it was feeling Celebrimbor's breathing, the expanding and collapsing of his ribcage between his clenching knees. If he increased the pressure, perhaps he would feel his heartbeat too. Or maybe it was the way his hair was haloed around him, fanned out in the grass like spilled ink, but more sublime. Or it could be the barely restrained strength he felt thrumming in the wrists he held.

It was knowing that though he had caged him for now, he would not be kept for too long.

As if reading his mind, Celebrimbor suddenly smiled, all haughty again. Then, very slowly, as if allowing even the slowest and least attentive ones to realize what he was doing, he twisted his hip, using the ground's leverage. Talion felt himself losing the advantage of his weight as he was lifted off a little, but not so much as when he had tried to flip them over.

"Alright, but- …"

Before he could continue, he felt a pressure at his back and then at his side that made him pause. Then, as a leg twisted around to trap his neck exactly in the bend of a knee, he understood.

"Oh no," he gasped, seeing Celebrimbor's smirk expand into a full grin.

It was either letting himself get choked – or realistically, getting his neck broken – or letting go of Celebrimbor's wrists. He chose the only way out and allowed himself to get pushed back, where he then lay with a knee to his throat.

"Yield."

He held up his hands and coughed once, rubbing his neck when he was released.

"I don't think I'm quite flexible enough to do that," he said.

"Maybe. Come," Celebrimbor beckoned. "Let's try this again."

Talion groaned but readied himself. This time he was not going to go for the grapple. Instead, he rushed forward, arms drawn in close to his center of mass, so they could not be grabbed by Celebrimbor that easily. He lowered his shoulder and drove it into Celebrimbor's open, undefended midriff, attempting to put him off balance.

It was like running into a wall.

"Good thinking," Celebrimbor said above him, his voice slightly muffled by the fact that Talion had his head trapped in his armpit.

"Not good enough, apparently."

"No. What would you do next?"

"Usually that's enough, so I didn't think that far ahead."

He felt, more than heard Celebrimbor's sigh.

"Look." He loosened his hold on Talion's neck and shoulders, where he had buffered his attack, a little. "How can you upset my balance?"

Talion craned his neck as far as he could, looking around. Then he saw that most of Celebrimbor's weight was put on his left foot, which had stepped back a little, most likely to counteract Talion's previous speed. With a practiced move that he knew well from fistfights with his comrades, Talion swept it away and out from under him, sending both of them crashing to the ground.

Of course, Celebrimbor landed on top, cushioned by Talion's body. And he had him in a choking grip.

"I'm starting to think that no book is worth getting thrown around this much," he groaned.

"I find," Celebrimbor said, sounding far too pleased, "that this is quite entertaining. How would you get out of this?"

Talion thrashed, testing Celebrimbor's grasp. Usually, when someone would have him trapped like this, they would be upright, and he'd be able to use his weight to his advantage. But since they were lying on the ground, Talion crushed underneath, that was not an option.

Then he realized that while Celebrimbor was busy trapping his head, Talion's hands were both still free. It would do no good trying to pry those hands away, and if there was no punching allowed, there was really only one other way: fighting the bastard with his own weapons.

Talion bucked and then used the short window of opportunity while Celebrimbor was unseated to grab him by the back of his tunic and seize him and throw him overhead, where he landed in the grass with a barking laugh.

"Very good!" he said, grinning at him upside down.

"So," Talion wheezed, "when do we know who wins, anyway?"

"Why, I win when you give up, of course."

"And when do I win?"

"When you get to the book."

"The- …?" Talion blinked, confounded. He had completely forgotten about the Tales of Naefaroth.

He looked around, knowing that Celebrimbor did not have it on him. The tome was too large to just put in a pocket, and he'd have noticed its edges digging in somewhere at some point anyway.

Then he spotted it, not even hidden, just lying in the grass not too far away.

With a cry of outrage Talion scrambled to his feet and just pelted across the meadow. He was aware of Celebrimbor's laughter behind him, closing in fast because there was no way he would ever outpace an Elf. But if he could just reach that book.

His dream lived until a foot swept both of his legs away from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. Once his had shaken off any residual dizziness, he found himself once more with Celebrimbor sitting on top of him. He had him in that grip again, with Talion's wrists held above his head, and this time he'd even anchored down one of Talion's legs with one of his own.

"Do you give up?" he asked.

"I am having the strange feeling that I have been here before," Talion said, declining to answer such a ridiculous question. Of course, he wasn't going to just give up, who did Celebrimbor think he was?

"Please, Talion."

This got his attention. The smug smirk from before had vanished, and so had the joyful grin. In their place was an almost worried frown.

"I will give you the book. I am glad it brings you joy. But you have not slept last night."

"I am sorry about that."

"Promise me you will not neglect your own health anymore."

Talion suddenly felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

"Alright," he agreed. "It is a bit silly to be so consumed by a mere book."

But Celebrimbor shook his head, finally letting go of Talion's hands. He still seemed uninclined to leave his perch, a proud, haughty raven who had found his favorite branch, but he wasn't so heavy anymore that it mattered much.

"I would not keep something so little from you if it gives you that much happiness." Then, he smiled. "And the story is rather good, I admit."

"It is," Talion said, discreetly peering at said book out of the corner of his eyes. It was lying in the grass, just out of reach.

Celebrimbor chuckled.

"Truly, I have tried everything to distract you at this point, but neither speaking of Gods nor battle have made your conviction waver. It is a prize well earned by now."

"Thank the heavens!" Talion cried and grabbed the book as soon as Celebrimbor let him go. "I need to know what happens with Helevorn in the caverns of Nen Lalaith."

He made to get up and return to the house to read, perhaps at the kitchen table or on his cushioned chair in Celebrimbor's forge when a hand stopped him, gently, yet firmly.

"I liked that part best," said Celebrimbor. "Would you allow me to read it to you?"

"Oh." He looked at the book, the pages spread open in his lap. "Here?"

"The grass is soft."

Talion looked over, following the line of Celebrimbor's arm to where he still lay, apparently completely at ease and tranquil. Once more, he felt a strange sort of discomfort at the soft, open regard directed at him from fiery blue eyes. His own gaze was drawn again to the spill of dark hair, draped almost carelessly over an arm that pillowed Celebrimbor's cheek.

He handed over the book, indicating the verse where he had last been, swallowing down the clump that had mysteriously formed in his throat.

They both settled in, the grass indeed being very soft. Eventually, Talion propped his head on Celebrimbor's shoulder, so he would still be able to see the text.

"Ar·phent Androth Naefaroth·na: man angorech?" he began to read. Talion immediately appreciated not only that this was a method far superior at teaching him also proper pronunciation and rhythm – but also Celebrimbor's voice, which was well-suited to this. "Sí il chem en i Naugrim en ir Ellath thor den ammen."

He lost himself in the tale as sure as if he had been reading it on his own, yet there was also something added in his enjoyment of it, being able to hear Celebrimbor's own outrage, joy and sadness as the story continued. They spend the entire day like this, taking only short breaks to eat and drink and to find a new spot in the sun once their old one had been cast into shadow.

Together, they finished the Tales of Naefaroth, and Talion was very sad to hear the end of it, though the final resolution had been more than satisfactory. He did not wish to move, feeling very warm and comfortable, propped against Celebrimbor's side and basking in the late afternoon sun. Still, he was getting very, very tired, not having slept at all the last night. His yawn, though formed around a smile and muffled into the cloth of Celebrimbor's tunic, could not be mistaken as anything else.

"Perhaps an early dinner might be appropriate, and then you should sleep, to catch up on the hours already lost."

"No," Talion said, despite knowing he must sound like a cantankerous child. "I'm comfortable here, I don't want to move."

Celebrimbor chuckled.

"If you will not move, I will have to force you."

"Do what you will. I am powerless to stop you either way."

In the end he let himself be coaxed into eating something at least, appeasing his growling stomach. But once he had finished his meal, full and satiated, warm and relaxed, he felt his eyes slipping shut. Each time they stayed closed for a little longer, until he could hold them open no more.

Between sleep and wakefulness, he felt himself being moved and settled into a cocoon of softness. Something warm touched his cheek, then carded gently through his hair, and he longed to chase the contact. Instead, he chased a dream, finally finding rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Translations:_  
>  Alacaurë - (Q.) do not fear  
> Tawarwaith - (S.)  
> Onya - (Q.) my child  
> Yonyo - (Q.) my son  
> Meldanya - (Q.) my darling  
> Ar·phent Androth Naefaroth·na: man angorech? Sí il chem en i Naugrim en ir Ellath thor den ammen - (S.) A passage called the Túrin Wrapper, from the book wrapping for the Túrin Saga. I only exchanged the names. The original means: "and said Rían (Androth) to Tuor (Naefaroth): what have we done? now all hands of the Dwarves and Elves will be against us"
> 
> By the way, Amath is the Sindarin word for "shield", and Calatindo is a Quenya compound that means "he with a fiery gleam in his eyes". The Sindarin equivalent would be Baralinor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace for big name dump because there are far too many Elves.
> 
> And I hope everyone had nice holidays - happy new year to you all :)

Midsummer was approaching fast, and as the day loomed on the horizon, Celebrimbor soon spent nearly all his time working on the Lady Idhrenil's gift in his forge. In order to keep it constantly running for so long he had chopped a lot of wood. The rests of this, Talion now used to keep himself occupied.

Currently, he was working on a small piece of a branch, trying to whittle it into the shape of a figurine. A fox, this time. He had already finished a rough looking dog, fashioned after a mutt that had lived in the barracks at the Black Gate and kept the Rangers company. He'd forgotten its name, it had been so long ago, and ashamed of this he dedicated his first design to this faithful animal.

He was by no means artistically inclined, but handling a knife came naturally to him, and wood was plentiful since he did not want the branches that were too slight to heat Celebrimbor's forge to go to waste. And he had not much else to do. This would become a problem very soon, he feared. There was little to do in the Undying Lands, as they were a paradise, and nobody wanted for anything. Except for work.

His and Celebrimbor's arrangement was a strange one, at least in Talion's eyes, and it left him a little floundering as to his place and role. They did not share a craft as Talion was no smith. Among his people, that would have been the only explanation for two unwedded or widowed men to live together like this, unless they were related. One of them – Talion – was awake for only half the day, while the other could work for far longer than that without a break. All of it left Talion feeling rather pointless, or privileged at the very least, and he feared that the structure of their entire household might suffer if they could not find some sort of balance soon.

The only solution Talion saw was to move to Tirion, where he might find an occupation for himself, for even though he found joy in hunting, they had not enough need for meat or furs to justify spending his days doing that. But he dreaded bringing it up with Celebrimbor, who avoided the city of his ancestors like oil shied from water. Heavens, he hadn't even told Celebrimbor that he felt this way at all.

Consequently, he put off the discussion, preferring to busy himself with inane tasks such as cooking his meals, gathering ingredients from the forest and cleaning. They were necessary, he knew, and someone had to do them. And with Celebrimbor busy working on the commission that was sure to earn them enough money and favor to last a long while, of course it should be Talion to do these things. But it rankled. Had Ioreth ever felt this way, when Talion and later also Dirhael were gone off to guard the Black Gate? Leaving her to simply … keep things running? Had she also felt as if something was simply missing from her life? Perhaps not, seeing as she had never complained or seemed unhappy.

It was more than enough work. Some days he barely managed to finish half the chores. But they did not challenge him in ways that his previous work had done – both as a Ranger of Gondor, and then later in their joint endeavors to sabotage the Dark Lord's armies. He had no desire to learn smithery, but he often found himself watching Celebrimbor in envy. At least his craft was useful.

It wasn't fair to think such bleak thoughts. Talion's life, such as it now were, was a stolen thing. He did not even deserve to be here, walking and breathing in the Undying Lands, which should be barred to his kind. His fate lay in the abyss. He should be glad about any moment, any piece of joy, because it was all stolen. He should be _happy_.

And yet he wasn't. Not really.

He looked up from his little fox figurine, which was taking shape nicely, to observe Celebrimbor for a little while. He had finished making the chisels and the hammer itself and was now working on the embellishments in gold, and the setting for the ruby which he planned to place in the pommel of the hammer. It was quieter work than when he crafted with iron and steel, but he moved with no less certainty. At this rate, he was going to be finished two days before Midsummer.

Talion peered at the chisels currently being adorned with the most filigree patterns of gold he'd ever seen. He had no idea about Elven Midsummer festivals. But in Gondorian culture, Midsummer was often a feast of extravagance, and giving gifts to everyone and anyone was a big part of that. He used to love showering his family with things he knew they could use and would enjoy and that they needed. Midsummer was an excuse to splurge and spare no expense to make one's loved ones happy.

He hoped they'd get a chance to see the festivities in Tirion, and not just because he was bored and honestly chomping at the bit to see the city again. He wanted to see some of his fleeting acquaintances again. He wanted to see Celebrimbor in a different context, immersed in his culture. He wanted to experience this, as an outsider, but the way someone who truly belonged would. This was a unique opportunity, and he couldn't wait for it to happen.

In the meantime, he could bear a little bit of tedium. Especially if he could spend it watching Celebrimbor in his true element, spinning and weaving gold into forms it should not take, until a simple set of chisels looked as if touched by pure sunlight made liquid and then frozen.

"They look amazing. Lady Idhrenil will be very happy to present them to her husband," Talion said.

Celebrimbor looked at them, spread on his work bench, as if trying to see something that he wasn't sure was there.

"They are not my best work," he argued.

"And what exactly do you consider your best work?" Talion asked, genuinely curious. "The Rings of Power? Well, pardon me, but I hope they don't turn out to be Chisels of Power."

This, at least, got him a chuckle.

"I did not imbue them with magic, so there is no way." He paused. "My best work was probably the second Elessar. I worked on the first one with my master, Enerdhil. Then I made one for myself and gave it to Galadriel."

"Oh. What did it look like?"

"It was a green stone. Both of them were. We used crystal to trap sunlight and transformed it into a jewel. Mine also had protective and restoring magic woven into it, improving on the original design."

"That sounds very beautiful indeed."

"It was." He lifted one of the chisels, examining it. "These will do, however. I hope the Lady Idhrenil's husband will create beautiful sculptures with them."

Talion nodded, seeing the finished product and their beauty and quality as well, when he noticed something.

"You didn't use any of the silver you purchased."

For some strange reason, Celebrimbor reacted to this by grabbing a towel and covering the chisels with it, hiding them from view. He looked very uncomfortable, avoiding Talion's eye.

"I did not, indeed. I will use the silver for the hammer, when I set the ruby," he said, puzzling Talion, as it was clearly a lie.

Regretfully, or perhaps thankfully in Celebrimbor's case, before Talion had the chance to poke and prod at Celebrimbor's resolve until he caved and told him what the missing silver was about, they were interrupted.

"Well met!" came a deep and pleasant voice – pleasant in the way that it was comfortable and homely, and it immediately relaxed Talion, drawing his attention to a white rider atop a white horse.

"Mae govannen," he called out, when Celebrimbor did not react.

"Are you Amath and Calatindo, who have a while ago made acquaintance with Elladan and Elrohir?"

"Yes, we are they. And who are you?"

The rider came closer, finally alighting from his beautiful steed, revealing himself to be … an old man? Talion's eyes widened. Perhaps he was not the only Man in the Blessed Realm after all. Perhaps this one had been granted permission to sail and had landed on the shores with the ship that had brought Galadriel and Elrond and the twins and the Ring-bearer, who was mortal also.

"I have and have had many names," said the stranger, approaching them unhurriedly, leaning lightly on his tall, white staff. "I was once named Olórin, though the Elves have come to call me Mithrandir. To the dwarves I was known as Tharkûn, and the Men of Middle-earth called me Incánus, or Gandalf Greyhame. And now I am Olórin once more."

"Olórin," Talion repeated, smiling, and rose from his chair to greet him. He wiped a few wood flakes from his tunic before extending his hand in greeting and bowing shallowly. "We are pleased to make your acquaintance, especially if you are friends with Elladan and Elrohir."

"Indeed, they are friends of mine, and they have spoken highly of you," Olórin confirmed, smiling pleasantly.

"You are a Maia."

Talion startled, feeling the sudden warm presence of Celebrimbor next to him, who had spoken as if in accusation. He could not see his face, but by the way Olórin's face fell, he could guess that it was not agreeable.

"Well observed, master Calatindo," said Olórin, gripping his staff with both hands. "You, also, are not who you seem to be. Have we met before?"

"No."

The three of them stood in silence, until Talion and Olórin realized that this was all Celebrimbor was going to say to that.

"Excuse him," Talion said. "He is not the friendliest of spirits."

"Oh, not at all. I am sure he can be amicable if he puts his mind to it," Olórin chuckled with a jolly wink.

And then, as if merely to be contrary, Celebrimbor bluntly asked: "Why are you here?"

"Ah, right to the heart of the matter. Spoken like a true Ñoldor." Olórin raised an eyebrow and looked at Talion as if to say, 'you know of what I speak, don't you'. Talion did indeed know. "As I said, I am a friend of Elladan and Elrohir and their family. They have bid me to send word to you that they wish to invite you to spend the Midsummer festivities with them, at the House of Finarfin, the Lord of Tirion."

Talion blanched. There was no way they could accept this invitation. Elladan and Elrohir were sons of Elrond, who would recognize Celebrimbor. And Finarfin, too, he had said was someone who would know who he was.

"I am afraid we will have to decline, we would not dream of intruding on the Lord's festivities," Talion started to say. Of course, Olórin would not have it.

"Nonsense! You are both invited, and cordially so, Elladan and Elrohir have spoken very highly of the both of you. It will be no bother at all to include two more mouths in the no doubt elaborate banquet they have planned, and there is certainly more than enough room!"

"We cannot," said Celebrimbor with finality, saving Talion from coming up with more excuses.

"Oh?" Olórin frowned. "And why is that?"

"We are already invited to another gathering."

"We are?" Talion blurted out. Celebrimbor gave him a look. "I don't know what you mean, you will have to speak up, Calatindo."

"My mother," Celebrimbor said, very slowly, "will certainly not allow us to escape her grasp and will insist that we attend Midsummer celebration."

"Ah … You are right, of course, I forgot."

"Well then! Invite her too!" laughed Olórin. "The more the merrier! We shall invite both of your families, they are more than welcome. Who can decline an invitation to the festivities of Lord Finarfin?"

This time Talion definitely saw Celebrimbor blanching as well.

"That will not be possible."

"And why not? Do they not live in Tirion? I am sure Lord Finarfin would not mind sending carriages to fetch them from … Alqualondë? Or perhaps Valimar?"

"No," growled Celebrimbor. "We will not come."

And then he simply turned on his heel, stomping back to his forge, where he lit the largest, most violent and loudest roaring fire that Talion had ever seen. Sharing a look with Olórin, they stepped out, and he apologized.

"I am sorry, but we really cannot attend. Please extend our regrets to Elladan and Elrohir. We are flattered that they would even still think of us, after only one meeting. But it is not possible."

Olórin hummed, stroking one hand along his pristine white beard.

"Do you always do and say as your companion does?"

Talion bristled.

"Excuse me? No, I do not. I have my own opinions. But we stand united on this. We will not come."

"Hm. Well, if you do change your mind, you shall always be welcome should you wish to join the House of Finarfin during Midsummer after all." Olórin gave him a pointed look. "Or, if judging by your companion's temper his mother is anything like that, you may also come by yourself, my dear."

This startled a laugh out of Talion.

"Oh, she is a dragon alright. I thank you for the generous offer."

Olórin shrugged and harrumphed, as if to say, 'you have dug your own grave here' and waved.

"Give your companion my regards. I hope to see the both of you soon."

"Farewell, Olórin."

Talion watched as the strange Maia got atop his white horse and rode through the trees at a brisk pace, and then retreated back into the forge. The fire there was smaller already, though Celebrimbor seemed to have beaten a poor piece of iron into submission.

"Did your mother really invite us?" he asked.

"No. Not yet, at least. I assume she will." Celebrimbor grabbed the mangled piece of iron and threw it into a basket that was reserved for unsalvageable scraps. So far it had remained nearly empty. "Perhaps she has not told Nínimel yet."

Talion suddenly felt a surge of pity for the older Elf woman.

"She must be lonely. No wonder she basically chased after you, even after a mere glimpse through the crowd."

Celebrimbor sighed.

"She is not alone. There are two other wives of the Sons of Fëanor: Felawen wife of Caranthir, and Nellriel wife of Maglor. First among them is Nerdanel, wife of Fëanor himself. I assume they live together in the House in Tirion, keeping each other company and waiting – in all cases except Nerdanel – for their husbands to be reincarnated."

"Still," Talion argued. "That is not the same as having your own children around."

"No, I assume not. But even so, Nínimel would not be allowed to live in the House."

"What? Why?"

"Because she is of my mother's line, not of my father's, and therefore has no claim to the House of Fëanor." He waved a hand. "It is complicated. You know she is not truly my sister, but rather the daughter of my mother's twin sister. After her death, my mother took Nínimel in as her own."

"Yes, you told me that. But it's still cruel and unnecessary."

"Perhaps, but this is the way things are done in Tirion."

Talion rubbed the bridge of his noise, his head spinning with all these new names.

"You will have to tell me more about this if we really are to spend Midsummer with them. And I know you don't like to speak of these things, but if I am to keep up with these women, I will surely have to know at least some of it."

Celebrimbor hesitated, his fingers tangling in the cloth that covered the finished chisels.

"I can tell you of Nellriel, whom I have met once, and whose is voice is as lovely as a summer breeze. She and Maglor sang together, on the occasion that I met her, a song so delightful I can still remember it. Their song would make anyone stop to listen to them, they harmonized so well. She was kind-hearted, from what I remember, and she was always outspoken, calling for caution, mercy and forgiveness rather than thoughts of war, vengeance and retribution.

"I can also tell you of Nerdanel, with whom I have never spoken, but who I have seen from afar. She is not lovely like most other ellith, rather she is beautiful for her conviction and strength. I have seen her sculptures of living beings that looked more alive than the real thing, and my father spoke of her, his mother, with great love and admiration. I do not know her manner, or her speech, but she always believed in her family, which she always put first, even to her and everyone else's detriment.

"And I can tell you of Felawen, who has a temper as fickle as the wind. She could shout in fury one moment and laugh in joy the very next. She was well-matched to Caranthir, who was like kindling, easily lit and stoked to anger. Often it was her who sparked it. She never liked me, and when Caranthir perished alongside my father and their brother Celegorm, she blamed me for not having been there to support them. In her eyes, my absence was what killed them. She will not yet have forgiven me for that. And last I knew, she had a long-standing feud with my mother, though I expect they should have resolved that by now."

"What will they think of me?"

"Nellriel will love you, and Felawen will hate you. Nerdanel I know not, and my mother will eventually get over her dislike for anyone not Ñoldor and at the very least be polite to you." He sighed heavily and came to sit next to Talion in his little, comfortable corner. "I suppose, there is also a slim chance that perhaps some of my uncles have been reincarnated and now dwell with them. Amrod, foremost, as he died … a very long time ago, and he was the least tainted, if only because he died so young and had doubts even then. And perhaps Maglor or Maedhros, for they were repenting, in the end."

"Would you like to see them again?" Talion asked cautiously. He knew that Celebrimbor held great contempt for most of his uncles and his grandfather, but he had previously already spoken rather fondly of his uncle Maglor, the minstrel.

This time, he was silent for longer, staring forlornly into the dying embers of his forge. Talion let him, knowing this was a heavy topic to speak about. And besides, his head was still swimming with all this new information.

"It is very unlikely that I will have to face Celegorm or Caranthir, who I disliked the most. And my father, too, is unlikely to have been released from the Halls of Mandos already, if he ever will. But I think I would not mind seeing Maedhros and Maglor again. They were always kind to me." He closed his eyes here, frowning as if in pain. "I only remember very little of Amrod, having been barely of age when they- … When we fled Valinor. And after his death Amras was never himself again. He withdrew, though he still upheld his Oath. If they have been healed, I will imagine they should both be very different now."

Talion reeled, overwhelmed. He could not imagine having a family like this. First of all, there were so many of them. And they were all so different. With each and every one of them, Celebrimbor must have had a trove of shared memories, some good … and likely many bad. After such a long time, the possibility of reuniting with them must be daunting. Especially not knowing how their time in the Halls of Mandos may or may not have changed them.

No wonder Celebrimbor would rather avoid the topic entirely.

"If we have to spend Midsummer with them, I hope that my sister will attend also. You will like her very much, and I would have it no other way," he said, smiling, the shadow that had been cast over his features gone like it had never been there.

"I'd be honored to meet Nínimel, if only because I am certain she will join forces with me against you," Talion laughed, relieved at the lighter topic. He had some impressions of Celebrimbor's sister through the memories he had shared. He had felt his great love for Nínimel, and the depth of his grief when she had been murdered. But first and foremost, Celebrimbor had remembered her laughter – she had seemed like a very joyous young Elf.

"I am afraid you might be right in that; her mischievous streak was always a mile wide. She would not forego an opportunity to wheedle me." His smile turned wistful. "If only I could pick and choose whom I count as my family."

"I know the feeling," Talion sighed. "I had a few cousins that I could have made do without."

"Really? Tell me of them."

"There were Ríndir and Rínor, twin terrors. I was only a year younger, and they would incessantly pick on me and bully me. It was because of them that I decided to become a Ranger."

"Because you wanted to learn how to fight?"

"No. To protect others who were helpless to defend themselves." Talion shrugged, and then saw Celebrimbor's expression. "What?"

Celebrimbor smiled and shook his head.

"Oh, Talion."

"What?" he repeated, laughing nervously.

"There could have been no other Man as resilient and valiant as you – you, who withstood the temptations and the power of not one, but two Rings of Power. You, who held me back from corruption for a near lifetime."

There was such a light in Celebrimbor's eyes as he said this that Talion had to avert his own gaze. It made him uncomfortable to hear this. Being praised like this. He did not think it the truth, for in the end he _had_ succumbed. He had given in and done terrible things in the service of the Witch-King, in the name of the Dark Lord. If anything, this told him that despite it all, he was no better than any other Man, be he weak of mind or proud and strong. They all were so easily corrupted.

"Ni yéta, melinya. Look at me. Silence these dark thoughts in your mind."

He resisted the touch of fingertips beneath his chin, but only until he could withstand their pressure no more. Instead he found once more this unbearable intensity when he met Celebrimbor's stare, and he had to force himself not to squirm beneath it.

"I have never encountered a heart as noble as yours, or a soul as steadfast and honorable as yours. In all of my life, you, of all the people I have met, none have inspired and touched me as you have. Do you not see? The darkness that you have fought and redeemed yourself from, it would have consumed anyone else. But not you. And I- …" He hesitated. "I am honored. And I cherish thee, Talion. For all that I did not cherish you while we were together in Mordor, I shall cherish you all the more now in Aman, for these are the Blessed Lands where no shadow shall be cast."

Talion stared, speechless and fearing that his face betrayed all the things he felt, all the things that were now mingled in his stomach, feeling heavy as lead. Such words, uttered by one such as Celebrimbor, he could barely accept it. But there was nothing but truth in his eyes, and conviction in the hand that still held his chin.

"You have no obligation, of course," continued Celebrimbor, "and you may remain here if we were to be invited to attend Midsummer at the House of Fëanor. But it would please me greatly to count you among my family."

"Of course," Talion rasped hoarsely, seeing no choice but to tell the truth. His heart beat wildly, and his mind raced, but this he knew. "It would be the greatest of all honors."

Finally, Talion was released from Celebrimbor's touch, and they both looked away from each other. Suddenly, the forge was very warm and quiet. And at first the silence weighed heavy with the words that had banished it before, but gradually, as Celebrimbor picked up a few tools to polish the ruby to complete Lady Idhrenil's commission and Talion resumed his whittling, it became companionable again.

He soon set aside his small fox figurine, however, unfinished. In his mind he had a different image, a separate design. A raven, he thought. Ravens liked shiny trinkets and spoke with rough voices that sometimes approximated human speech, betraying their intelligence. They had shining black feathers and sparkling eyes, and they moved about as if they thought the world beneath them. Often, humans regarded them as terrible omens, yet in stories they also carried deep knowledge and wisdom.

Out of the corner of his eye, Talion stole a glance at Celebrimbor, hunched over the ruby he was preparing. Already, the stone flashed with a deeper, more vibrant red than before, like a drop of living blood held between his fingertips. In his concentration, he didn't even notice when Talion's gaze lingered longer than it perhaps should have.

Talion's face warmed. A raven, indeed.

///

Celebrimbor's work on the Lady Idhrenil's gift was done, and only two days remained until Midsummer. They had not yet received an invitation from Colfingwen or anyone else for that matter. The anxiety of awaiting word from anyone about anything and not knowing whether they would attend Midsummer in Tirion at all was enough to make Talion snap at Celebrimbor for merely standing too close to him in the morning. He apologized profusely for it; yet felt as if everything was not yet right despite Celebrimbor's assurance that it was.

If Talion had to hear the words "it is fine" from him one more time, and especially in that smooth, cool tone, he was not to be responsible for his actions anymore.

"Perhaps we could go to the river for a swim," Talion suggested. "I need a wash anyway, and maybe … Well, it might cool our tempers."

Celebrimbor assented, thankfully, but it was not until they had already packed some things and started the short trek to the river, when Talion realized his oversight. This was neither of their first time to go to the river. But it was the first time they did so in order to swim. Together.

Perhaps, after what had occurred between them the other day, this was not as fine an idea as he had initially thought.

Still, it was too late to voice his sudden doubts now, and soon enough the river came into view.

Its waters originated from somewhere up high in the Pelóri mountains above the Calacirya, flowing clear and murmuring through the forest. As far as either of them knew it had no name, being too remote and not mighty enough to require or deserve naming. They came to this spot regularly, mostly to wash. The riverbank was shallow here, and the river itself widened and deepened at this spot enough to allow ready access to its waters.

Without a word, Talion selected a rock to place his things next to and stepped across the shallow sand and pebble shoreline to sample the water. It was fresh, but not so cold as to be unbearable. Invigorating, especially in the sun-heated glade that they stood in. He cupped his hands and took a drink, reveling in the clean, sweet taste of the water.

"I think this is a- …"

Before he could finish his sentence, Celebrimbor brushed past him, completely nude, and waded into the river without flinching.

"Oh, heavens," he gasped, turning away. His cheeks reddened in embarrassment and he closed his eyes, superfluously, but try as he might, he could not banish the sight of Celebrimbor's long, bare legs from his mind.

"You're too slow!" called Celebrimbor from behind him, accompanied by the sound of splashing water.

Talion resolutely kept his back to the river as he started to undress himself. First, he took off his boots, then he pulled off his tunic, and then he clumsily stepped out of his pants. He'd come to terms with his own nakedness. But he'd never actually seen Celebrimbor in such a state of undress before, strangely enough. Why else would it shake him so much?

"Look away!" Talion cried and went to dip a few of his toes into the water. Focused as he was on sampling the water temperature, he noticed too late that Celebrimbor had not, in fact, looked away. Rather, he was mostly submerged, only the top of his head sticking out, the water up to just below his eyes. Those now rolled in annoyance, and he finally turned around.

Talion began to painstakingly acclimatize himself to the rather frigid temperature of the river until he was hip-deep. The next part was going to be the worst, in his experience.

"Just get in," came Celebrimbor's annoyed commentary, startling Talion.

"Well, excuse me for not being completely immune to all environmental influences like you."

"You just have to get in, and it won't be so bad afterwards."

"I can't just run in; the ground is uneven, and the current is strong."

He looked up at the growling sound Celebrimbor made. When he saw him standing up, hands poised at his side, Talion dropped into a fighting stance.

"Oh, no, you don't. If you splash me, I swear to Eru that I will murder you," Talion hissed.

"Alright, I won't. If you get in right now. You'll get cold, anyway, if you stand still for too long."

Talion groused, and hemmed and hawed, staring at the water rushing past him and tugging at him relentlessly. Then he stared at Celebrimbor, standing in the middle of the river only a few paces away, his wet hair clinging to his shoulders.

"Stop looking at me like that," Talion griped.

"Stop stalling," Celebrimbor shot back. "This was your idea."

"Don't remind me, I'm regretting it already."

Finally, with a great gasp, Talion managed to dive into the river's deeper waters, not hesitating this time to immerse even his head. After all, he at least was here to wash, not just to splash around. Wheezing, he shook himself, willing his body to settle after the sudden temperature shock. He washed himself quickly and efficiently with the help of the river's currents and a small bar of soap he'd brought just for this purpose. Still, he could not remain for too long, so he made his way back to the shore. To his surprise, Celebrimbor followed.

"You can swim some more if you want," he offered as he patted himself dry and started to wring out his hair. It had grown rather long, initially out of necessity – and now simply because he was too lazy to cut it. Wet as it was now, it fell just below his breastbone. Far longer than Celebrimbor's, now.

"Later, perhaps."

Talion blushed again when Celebrimbor settled down next to him in the grass, still completely naked, and reached out to help untangle Talion's unruly head of hair. His own naturally settled to be as smooth and fine as if it were already combed. In the light, now, Talion could finally tell with certainty that it wasn't black in color. As it slowly dried in the sunlight, it took on a muted maroon hue, perhaps even a hint of ruddy colors here and there where the angle hit just right.

Talion fought with all the tangles in his own hair, first in frustration, and then when Celebrimbor plucked the comb from his hands, he settled for fuming in silence. Not only was it a boring, flat dark brown, but it also had to be unruly and annoying.

At least Celebrimbor's hands were gentle in untangling the knots.

"Perhaps some of this oil might help," he said suddenly and got up to rummage in his own pack.

"Oil?"

"Here, let me show you."

Celebrimbor opened a small vial and spread a few drops of oil on the tips of his fingers, which he then ran through his own tresses like a comb. At first, Talion saw no difference, but then suddenly after a while Celebrimbor's hair started to develop slight waves, like ripples on a still lake.

"It should give it some structure, perhaps it will tangle less."

He then poured some more onto his fingertips and leaned over to repeat the procedure with Talion's hair, which had started to dry and frizz a little already. But as Celebrimbor spread the oil throughout the length of it with calm hands, it too began to settle and consolidate into waves. Not as neat or as pronounced as Celebrimbor's, but it was something.

"Thank you, this is much better," Talion confessed, smiling at Celebrimbor. But the Elf was looking at him with a rather strange expression. He called his name, seeing with confusion that he startled.

"You are welcome," said Celebrimbor belatedly and turned away. "I shall go swimming again."

"I'll stay ashore and bask in the sun, I think."

And really, now that he was clean, he could do well without the freezing waters of the river. The sun was warm on his skin, warm enough to nearly make him drowsy and contemplate maybe taking a nap. So, he didn't think he'd go for a swim again. But he knew that Celebrimbor enjoyed swimming, as much as any Elf, he supposed. Certainly, his movements were graceful as he swam, resembling more a fish or another water creature than something meant to walk on solid ground. He'd work against the current with powerful strokes and then let himself drift with the current like a leaf on the water, his hair floating on the surface like an oil spill.

Talion must have fallen asleep after all, for cold droplets of water woke him as they landed on his face. With a grumble, he sat up straight, blinking into the sun. No, the sun was blocked by something. Someone. A damp hand touched his cheek, tapping, checking all over his head.

"What are you doing," he yawned, drowsily deflecting off the offending hand.

"Get dressed." Celebrimbor withdrew. "There is someone approaching."

"What? Who?"

Talion swiftly shook off all remnants of sleepiness and grabbed a fresh pair of pants and a tunic, donning them in mild hurry. If someone was coming and Celebrimbor heard them, they were still a fair distance away, but perhaps they could see them. Especially if they knew that Talion and Celebrimbor were here. If they were coming for them.

"I know not who," Celebrimbor said, finishing lacing up his own tunic and slipping on his boots. "But they are Eldar. Not that pesky Maia, at least."

"Just one?"

Celebrimbor nodded his confirmation.

"Hush now, we're in earshot."

Talion finished stowing everything into his pack, regretfully noting that he had not brought Azkâr, or anything else to defend themselves with. Not that he thought they'd need such things. But it always made him feel a bit better, knowing he was not unarmed.

"Hail!" Celebrimbor called out into the forest, standing tall and proud. His eyes were fixed on something Talion could not yet see. "Who approaches, and for what purpose?"

Talion frowned, thinking he heard a sound like clinking metal. Weapons? Chimes? Then he, too, finally spotted a single slim figure beneath the trees, clad in yellow.

"Is that how you would greet me, brother?" said the figure, her voice carrying through the forest like birdsong.

Talion's gaze snapped to Celebrimbor, who looked either ready to flee or perhaps fall to his knees.

"Nínim?" he whispered.

The sound, again, and yes it was like chimes. She was laughing.

"El sila erin lú e govaded vin, hanar-nín."

"Nínimel!"

Both of them seemed to no longer be able to stand still, both bolting forward, laughing, their arms held out. With their speed, Talion thought they should surely clash, but Celebrimbor captured his sister in his arms before they could collide, and lifted her high, spinning her around. Their hair and her yellow dress fanned out, streaming through the air in a blur of color.

"Did mother send you?" was the first thing Celebrimbor said, still sounding breathless from laughter.

"Yes, she did, you scoundrel, I had to find out that you were finally with us again from her. Imagine my ire! My own brother, not telling me he was home!" She shook him a little, but there was a smile on her face. "I am angry, brother, but it cannot overshadow my joy. To see you again! Oh, I have missed you, hanar-nín, my sweet, noble brother."

Celebrimbor's face fell a little, his smile bleeding into sadness.

"Nínimel, you have grown. You're no longer the Elfling I remember, always underfoot." He paused, and then repeated, more forcefully: "You have _grown_."

"Yes, brother, that is what happens," she said, cocking her head. "I grew taller, and I have a husband and two sweet children who have also grown, and all of that happened without you there – I must tell you everything! So much you have missed. Ah, but it seems I have missed things as well."

She suddenly moved, her face smoothly turning towards Talion, who suddenly felt under distinct scrutiny. She did not have her brother's piercing blue eyes, but there was no less intensity behind her searching gaze.

"Mae govannen, heryn-nín. I am Amath, son of Limdir," he introduced himself with a bow, his fist pressed to his heart. When he lifted his head again, Nínimel was very close all of a sudden. But she was smiling, so he took that as a good sign.

She reached out with a slender hand, touching the ends of his hair. How glad he was now that Celebrimbor had combed it for him and oiled it.

"There is no need to call me thus. I am no Lady, not to you. Any friend of my brother's is a friend of mine," she said gracefully, her heart-shaped face lighting up with contentment when he agreed. She turned around to send a look at said brother, who only lifted an eyebrow. "It is good you kept him company. He tends to get morose when left alone for too long."

Celebrimbor made an indignant noise at that but protested no further.

"Come, neth-nín, we will show you to our home."

"Home!" exclaimed Nínimel, linking arms with her brother. "So it is true, you did not return to the House with mother? I thought she was jesting."

"What did you think we were doing out here?" Celebrimbor said dryly, leading her back towards the forest. Talion followed behind them, giving a respectful distance. Still, he was too curious not to eavesdrop.

"Well, perhaps you were just spending some leisure time outside the city, who am I to know?" Nínimel threw a glance at Talion over her shoulder and then elbowed her brother in the side. He grunted and rubbed the spot. "It is rather secluded out here, I must say. Brother, I did not take you for such a- …"

"Nínim," he interrupted her, and she laughed.

"I was going to say romantic, but I see how it is. Amath!" she called, and he jumped. "Come here, do not lag behind. I wish to get to know you, if by the look of things, you are to be my brother soon as well."

Talion spluttered when she linked their arms as well. He could not quite decide whether he took offense at her implication, or how to dissuade her from this foolish notion – and why did everyone come to this conclusion, anyhow? But he did not find the words to do all of this at once, so he said nothing instead.

"Oh, he is sweet, brother," he heard Nínimel mock-whisper. "He will be good for you."

"He is not so sweet as you say, I assure you," was the only thing Celebrimbor retorted before changing the topic: "You said that mother sent you. I hope she has no silly notions about Midsummer."

Nínimel gasped, tightening her grasp on both their arms.

"Oh, I wouldn't know about that. After all, I am not welcome in the House of Fëanor … No, she did not send me for that purpose. But if she did not invite you either, then you are more than welcome at my and my husband's. Both of you. We should celebrate my brother's return from the Halls of Mandos!"

"I think not, sister dearest. I rather feel that I will not celebrate Midsummer this year."

"What?"

Talion had not realized that he, too had spoken alongside Nínimel. He exchanged a look with her.

"This is the first I hear about this," Talion grumbled. "I, for one, was rather looking forward to at least witnessing some of the festivities in Tirion."

"Really?" Celebrimbor said in a strange tone. "You never said."

"I did not know that you wanted to skip Midsummer either."

They glared at each other over the crown of Nínimel's dark head until she elbowed the both of them. Ow. She really did have sharp elbows.

"No quarreling," she said in a tone that brokered no discussion. Talion suddenly had no doubt that she was a mother of two Elflings, grown though they may be now.

And then, to Talion's surprise, Celebrimbor muttered: "I had not known you wished to see the celebrations. If it is truly your desire, of course we shall go. But I think we are not yet ready for the entanglements of family politics."

The latter part was directed at Nínimel, who, despite her obvious disappointment, acquiesced.

"I do not remember much about our transition after being released from the Halls of Mandos," she said. "I followed mother, and I let her deal with things, as I was wont to do. I was young, still, and Aman was unknown to me. But I, too, remember that it was a lot to suddenly be expected to belong in a place where things are so different from … from home. It must be different for you, brother, you who remember at least the place, if not its people."

Celebrimbor was quiet for a while, as they walked through the forest.

"Tirion is the same, yet also much changed from the days of my childhood," he finally replied. "Or perhaps it is me who has changed beyond recognition."

"Well, at least I still know you," Nínimel said cheerfully, suddenly pulling at their arms. "Come, let us run! I desire the feel of the wind in my hair and I am impatient to see your house."

Talion hesitated, fearing that he might not be able to keep up with Elven strides, so long and quick. But as Nínimel let go of him, a familiar hand grasped his.

"Come," whispered Celebrimbor, and through some trickery or magic, Talion suddenly felt his limbs suffused again with the cool energy that he had once been so familiar with. When they ran after Nínimel with only a short delay, he felt as if he were flying again – and oh, he had not realized how much he had missed this.

They flew past Nínimel, who gave a startled shout and then laughed, saying – something. Talion did not hear or could not understand. Because Celebrimbor tugged at his hand, and they jumped over a fallen tree, gaining a burst of speed. Oh, it was so familiar. He almost braced himself to evade Uruk arrows, almost prepared himself to draw Urfael or Acharn from their sheaths. He could see their house now, not far away, as they ran towards it. And still he was not out of breath.

"You are still slower than me, Nínim," Celebrimbor teased next to him, but Talion paid him no mind. They had shared this once, as Wraith and host, in the darkness of Mordor. They had been strong, stronger than anyone else together. They could still share this, and he hadn't known. He nearly cried out when Celebrimbor let go of him and the cold energy left him. He missed it already, but it scared him, so he said nothing.

"You cheated; Amath helped you," Nínimel laughed, shoving her brother. Oh, how wrong she was. It was Celebrimbor who had helped him, covering once more for his failings and shortcomings as a Man when compared with one of the Eldar.

"I did not realize there were rules – and we gave you a head start, as you will recall."

"Oh, for this impertinence I demand that you properly show me your home, as it is. Knowing you, hanar-nín, it will be a pigsty. But then, I have much faith in dear Amath."

Surprised, Talion met her smiling gaze.

"He is rather disorderly," he mock-whispered to her, and they both grinned at Celebrimbor's indignant squawk.

Together, they showed Nínimel their humble little house at the edge of the forest. She said not much, running her fingers along the wood and rough furniture, taking in the cramped living space, and standing reverently before the fireplace above which Azkâr was displayed. Talion did not ask, but he knew that Celebrimbor had had Dwarven friends, of course. It stood to assume that Nínimel had at least known them as well. How strange it must seem to her to see evidence of this, now in Aman. Immortalized.

"I like it here," she finally said. "I am glad to see that you have such a home, brother."

Then, her eyes fell upon Talion.

"It was a great pleasure to meet you, Amath," she told him. All of a sudden, he wished he could tell her his true name. But no, he could not let anyone know that he was a Man. Not even the gentle and joyful sister of Celebrimbor, his dearest, closest companion.

"The pleasure was all mine," he assured her.

"If we do not see you at Midsummer's, please do drop by sometime. I would love to introduce you both to my husband, and if she is there to visit also, my daughter, Elenlaer. She should at least have met her uncle." Nínimel then gave directions that made little sense to Talion, but Celebrimbor nodded, apparently familiar with the neighborhood where she had settled down.

Brother and sister then hugged, and it looked long and painful. They had seen each other, but there was still much catching up that needed to be done. Not today. But soon.

She embraced Talion, too, whispering in his ear to take care of her brother. He promised, feeling strangely emotional at hearing this from such a remarkable elleth.

Watching her leave, her yellow skirts soon vanishing between the trees on the road to Tirion, Talion held Celebrimbor's hand, and said nothing about the tears rolling silently down his cheeks.

///

It was the morn of Midsummer, and Talion had barely been able to sleep in breathless anticipation. He barely knew why the thought of attending a feast celebrated in a culture so foreign to him excited him this much, but it did. And his enthusiasm was more than enough to overshadow whatever misgivings Celebrimbor had about going.

When Talion woke, there were fine clothes waiting for him and a selection of things gathered from the wood. He let Celebrimbor help him with his morning routine, let him help him get dressed in a set of dark indigo robes he had never used before, let him oil his hair once more, and let him braid a bushel of great owl feathers he must have found somewhere into it.

Celebrimbor himself wore a deep purple cloak and black underneath, a crown of holly sat upon his head where it arched like a prickly green halo, dotted with red berries.

"Isn't that going to hurt?" Talion asked, hesitating to touch the thorny leaves.

"No," Celebrimbor only said, looking at the rest of the bough that he had not used to weave the crown with a strange wistfulness. "They will not hurt me."

They took a pack, this time empty except for the Lady Idhrenil's commission, and walked the path to Tirion, hand in hand, much more familiar now than it had been just a while ago. Talion wondered what had changed. Perhaps it was that there were now so many people there that they knew and liked and loved, people to meet perchance, to talk with and exchange with. As they drew closer, more and more Elves also emerged from the woodwork seemingly, belying the fact that not everyone lived in the great cities, as so many thought. Everyone, though, was drawn to the great white spires of the Ñoldorin city – for this is where Midsummer was happening.

They climbed the crystal stairs and walked through the gate, once more greeted by noise and colors so vivid Talion thought he must have been blind before. Now, the sounds were sonorous, melodious singing floating above the rhythm of drums echoing through the winding streets and the white walls of Tirion. Immediately, his heartrate picked up in speed, and he squeezed Celebrimbor's hand.

"Oh, do you hear this? Let us get closer!"

Even Celebrimbor could not help but smile as they joined the other Elves all seemingly lured by song and music to the same place. They passed Elf-maidens handing out flowers that even Celebrimbor accepted and ended up fashioning into a wreath to hang around Talion's neck.

"Flowers from Yavanna's garden," he said, fingers lingering a moment too long on their petals.

They were surrounded now by Elves dancing, swaying their bodies to the strange rhythms that compelled Talion's feet to move, move, move, as foreign as the harmonies and beats were to his ears. He felt attracted, compelled, in a way that he could not name only taste, but he let Celebrimbor pull him past. They had things to do first.

He brought them to a section of the city that sat atop a great terrace, suspended above the air. The houses here were more elaborate, taller, narrower, more elegant. Talion almost feared to leave smudges on the pristine white with his hands and feet, but Celebrimbor seemed unfazed. Without hesitation, he brought them to a particular house and knocked on the door.

"Condotya," an ellon greeted them, bowing lightly.

Celebrimbor spoke to him in rapid Quenya, likely stating their purpose. Talion only heard their – false – names somewhere in there. He really should work on his Quenya more.

The ellon admitted them inside and led them to a sitting room of sorts, telling them to wait here for his mistress to greet them. The room was decorated exquisitely, all of it feeling very old and delicate from the vivid knotted carpets to the dark wood of the tea table and the glass candleholders. It did not take long until the Lady Idhrenil arrived, offering them her hand to kiss.

"Blessed Midsummer," she said, and they echoed her well-wishes. "I see you have brought me something … I am eager to see the results of your work, master Calatindo."

From the pack, Celebrimbor drew a box that he had fashioned himself, and embedded within on a cushion of evergreen moss, were the chisels and the hammer that the Lady Idhrenil had commissioned. Talion had seen it a few times now, the complete set, but still it took away his breath to see the filigree pattern and the solid, clear design. It was beautiful work, artful, yet also entirely practical. Talion loved it, and he could see that the lady did, too.

"They are stunning," she gasped, reaching out tentatively to touch one of the chisels, as if afraid to perhaps disturb the ornamentation, as light and delicate as lace. "Absolutely spectacular. My husband will adore them, and I cannot wait to see what he may do with them. I thank you, master. This, I will never forget."

She reached into the folds of her gown, a floating mass of silks and other nearly see-through materials that were layered so often that it became a cloud of fabric and drew forth a small satiny satchel.

"Payment, in emerald shards," she said. "I did not think you would like to carry a bag of gold around, not today."

Stunned, Talion watched the satchel exchange owners, realizing for the first time just how rich the Lady Idhrenil likely was. And how valuable Celebrimbor's work had to be.

"Thank you, my Lady. It was an honor and a joy to work on this commission. If there is ever anything else- …"

"Yes, if ever we desire to have metalwork of any kind done, I will surely turn to you, master. But please, come by any time you are in Tirion, as your friend it shall please me greatly to see how you are doing."

They both assured her that they would love to visit some time and catch up with her, after which the ellon from before came to escort them out. Gently, but firmly. The Lady needed to prepare for the Midsummer feast.

"Now that that's out of the way," Talion said, once they were outside, "I really want you to show me how Elves properly celebrate Midsummer."

This earned him a smirk.

"I think it will not differ greatly from what you knew. There is drinking, and food, and dancing and singing. But I shall show you all of these, most likely not in that order."

"Can we start with the food? I am a bit hungry, I must say."

They went into the thick of it again, Talion clinging to Celebrimbor's hand as he looked around, surely gaping and grinning like a loony or a child perhaps. He spun in place, taking in all the sounds and smells, overwhelmed by the assault on his senses.

He was not hungry for much longer. The sheer breadth of selections, the mere amount of choices. They had an array of exotic fruits, cut and peeled or drizzled with honey and juices or candied or spiked or coated in sugar and chocolate. Baked goods, ranging from pastries to cakes to confectionaries and things that Talion had no name for, could not describe the taste of but all of them delicious on his tongue. Rice, potatoes and breads the likes of which he had never seen before in all colors of the rainbow, spiced, drowned in sauces that were sweet or spicy or mild or meaty. Soups that blended flavors from vegetables together in ways that burst the boundaries of Talion's culinary mind. Meats, charred, grilled, drizzled with creams, spiced with fresh sage or rosemary or thyme or flavors he had never heard of before in combinations that should be illegal.

Talion barely knew where all the things he ate came from, or how and when Celebrimbor attained them. The second his hands were empty, he'd be given something else to taste, just to try, but all of it was so good he could not let anything unfinished. In between, Celebrimbor also fed him morsels, samples and bursts of flavor that all but exploded the range Talion knew his palate could handle.

A few times, Talion picked the morsels from Celebrimbor's fingers and they shared a look, just a quick glance, and he'd wonder whether the heat in his belly came from the spices or something else entirely.

This felt a lot like Midsummer, the way he knew it. It passed by him in a swirl of color and textures and aroma, dizzying, mind-altering, intoxicating. The only thing that kept Talion from fracturing under the sheer force of the experience, kept him from drowning and losing himself, was the steady grip that Celebrimbor had on him. He always either held his hand, or had an arm wrapped around his waist, was always a warm, solid presence next to him.

Perhaps warmer, and slightly less solid than usual. As the procession of foods to sample slowed down, or perhaps it was his appetite that was dwindling, he started to notice that Celebrimbor had also been busy. Not with eating, but with drinking.

"Can't let you have all the fun," was what he retorted when Talion addressed the half empty wine glass in his free hand. Then he burst into laughter, pulling Talion along into a torrent of joy.

Maybe it was not like how he remembered Midsummer at all. Because it did not stop there. He had eaten so much, and he was so full, but he did not feel drowsy or stuffed at all – and Celebrimbor at his side was swaying, tiptoeing, lighter and fierier than usual. Talion could smell the wine on his breath and the biting fragrance of the holly crowning his head and the flower petals crushed between their bodies.

"I think," Celebrimbor whispered into his ear, "that you are ready to see how we dance."

Talion's idea of dancing was what little he had learned and observed in the noble houses of Gondor. Slow, elaborate and intricate sets of steps and twists between a man and a woman, accompanied by stately music. That, or the drunken, uncoordinated stumbling of men who had a few too many ales and lost their inhibitions. He rather thought that what Elves thought of dancing should look similar to the former – something slow and elegant and dignified and artful. Perhaps he should have known, having heard the music coming from the great squares and open terraces. The primordial rhythm of drums and other percussion that resonated with one's heartbeat, taking over the mind, moving the body of its own volition.

Before long, Talion felt as if caught in a rush, taken and carried away by bodies that swayed and moved in time with the beat – one of them, always, always Celebrimbor.

Never before had dancing felt like this. Freeing, in a sense that he had no care as to who was watching or who they were with. Energizing, for the sparks that lit along his spine at the guiding clutch of Celebrimbor's arms around his waist. Enchanted, because of the swirling colors and the rhythm pounding in the ground, in the air, in his body. He did not need to speak to read or communicate intent. Touch was all that existed.

A song ended, and Talion breathed like one who had been drowning, or perhaps someone woken from a sleep so deep he had been dreaming vividly just moments before. Celebrimbor's eyes were alit with flames, and he reached out, they both reached out, waiting for the next set.

"You are beautiful," Celebrimbor muttered, nestling close. Talion buried his hands in his luscious hair, cool against his heated skin. The gesture was rewarded with a brush of lips against Talion's cheek. "Thank you. Thank you, for giving me this. Thank you."

Talion snorted – Celebrimbor's hair tickled.

"I think it is I who should thank you, not the other way around."

Celebrimbor's hands tightened on his waist, and Talion eased his steps in anticipation of the next song. But then it never came. Rather, he heard Celebrimbor's surprised intake of breath. Out of the corner of his eyes, Talion saw a sudden glint, like the reflection of light off a roof, and they both turned towards it.

Elves. The crowd parted for their procession. They were tall and serene, carrying their pale shining heads high as they sung quietly, almost inaudibly. The music had stopped, and instead the square filled with murmur, drowning out their muted chant.

"Sindar," Celebrimbor grumbled under his breath. "What are they doing here?"

Talion felt himself be pulled protectively against Celebrimbor's side, as if these Edhil posed any kind of threat. Most of them had pale flaxen hair that glinted like the moon, but some also had shades of hair that were darker – one had Ñoldor black, even, and the one beside him had untamed curls of pure gold and sunlight. Just as he laid eyes on them, a collective gasp rippled through the crowd.

"Onóro," said someone, and a hand reached out as if to brush against the dark lavender robes of the black haired one.

"Gwanur," said another.

"Maethor edainnen," whispered someone else.

The two who stood out for their different coloring looked around, as if torn from the serenity that made the others in their procession, as invulnerable to the stares of the ones whose festivities they were disturbing. The dark one swept a careful gaze around, hinting at a smile in the direction of the first one who had reached out to him. His companion, standing almost a head taller than he, laid a hand on the small of his back, guiding him along.

But then the darker one's eyes halted, caught on the sight of Celebrimbor. His face went slack, with shock or recognition or both, but before Talion could react, Celebrimbor lifted his hand in a quick, silent signal. The ellon nodded imperceptibly, eyes still wide, twisting his fingers into the robe of his companion who whispered something in his ear. He shook his head and led them on.

The Sindar and the two who were mismatched walked on, leaving the square, which had fallen still and silent with their passing. The rhythm of drums was slow to take up again, and it took even longer for feet and bodies to find that place of abandon and joy again.

Talion, however, remained grounded. Something had happened, and it would not allow him to dance this time.

"Who was that?" he asked, meeting Celebrimbor's eyes, who seemed equally disturbed.

"A very old friend. I believe the Sindar were invited to be guests at the House of Finarfin, and this is where he will go, too."

Talion licked his lips, thinking.

"We were invited to the House of Finarfin."

"You- …" Celebrimbor searched his face, hopeful, hesitant, a little fearful. "I would not ask this of you."

"You're not. I'm offering."

Something in Celebrimbor's expression shifted, almost imperceptibly, but Talion thought that it made him look infinitely less severe. Without words, they both decided on the direction of their steps – up and up, up the stairs, up the winding terraces, for the House of Finarfin sat atop the highest point of Tirion upon Túna, overseeing the entirety of the Calacirya from the shores of Aman in the East to the Pastures of Yavanna in the West.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Ni yéta, melinya - (Q.) look at me, my dear  
> Nínim - (S.) snowdrop (type of flower)  
> El sila erin lú e govaded vin, hanar-nín - (S.) A star shines upon the hour of our meeting, my brother  
> Heryn-nín - (S.) my lady  
> Neth-nín - (S.) my sister  
> Condotya - (Q.) my lords  
> Onóro - (Q.) kinsman  
> Gwanur - (S.) brother, kin  
> Maethor edainnen - (S.) twice-born warrior
> 
> Also I'm cruel and I gave Talion my type of hair which frizzes horribly unless I apply argan oil. And Celebrimbor's hair color I fashioned after my mother's because it is a very, very dark brown. And then the light shines through it and suddenly it's almost red :) I thought it would be fitting.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one, I like to write several chapters ahead and was stuck on chapter 6 ... blame that one, not number 4 :P I promise this chapter makes up for the wait.
> 
> Enjoy!

Talion had never been this high up, but he felt the hesitance in Celebrimbor's steps as they reached the part of town reserved for the Lords of Tirion, higher even than the Lady Idhrenil's House had been. He wondered which of these paths would take them to the House of Fëanor and thought that he might have spotted the junction, felt the direction in the stiffness of Celebrimbor's hand in his. Today was not the day. They were not yet ready to face this.

Their steps had been quick enough to catch up to the procession, and now, away from the celebrations below Talion could hear their singing. This was what he had most associated with conventional Elves, as they were known to Men. Pale, moonlit hair, gazes too fixed on something else to even notice the mortals on the left and right, and a frailty that belied the strength he knew hid beneath. Their chanting was – not sad, as such. But it was a far, far ways off the rhythms and the primal power of the music that had moved even Talion to dancing without abandon.

Perhaps he had not quite understood yet how different these Elves were from each other. The Sundering, they called it. He knew the names of the people, knew some of the history; but seeing how _other_ they were to what Talion was now used to. The grounded, earthy keenness of the Ñoldorin people who were so talented with their hands and minds. It stood in great contrast to the almost dreamlike quality of these Sindar.

He did not understand their near-hatred for each other. But Talion rather thought he preferred the Ñoldor. They felt, to him, more real.

Before them, the House of Finarfin rose into the darkening late afternoon sky, framed by white spires and the steep walls of the Calacirya in the backdrop. The white walls seemed impossibly smooth and daunting to Talion – uninviting in an otherworldly, distant way. Almost like the Sindar, who held their heads so high they did not notice him below.

The procession made its way up a set of crystal stairs and through the front door, which looked rather like a great gate, spilling golden light and warmth out onto the street. Before they entered, however, two figures disengaged from the formation, and stood waiting on top of the stairs, one dark, one gold.

"Tell me about him?" Talion asked when they were close enough to see, but not yet close enough to be heard.

"He is Erestor," Celebrimbor replied readily. "When I knew him, he was advisor to High-King Gil-Galad in his kingdom of Lindon. He travelled between Mithlond and Ost-in-Edhil, establishing diplomacy between Lindon and Eregion. He became a great friend and advisor. When … When everything came to an end, it was he to whom I entrusted the remaining two Elven Rings, so he could bring them to Gil-Galad. I sent him away, just before- …"

Talion squeezed his hand, knowing. Before. Before Sauron destroyed Eregion, took Ost-in-Edhil. Captured and then killed Celebrimbor, his mother and sister.

"Will you tell him?" It went unsaid what Talion meant. They both knew that he spoke of Celebrimbor's suffering as a Wraith, and their time together in Mordor. Their battles against the Dark Lord.

"Yes. One day."

They were close enough now that even Talion could hear Erestor and his golden companion speaking. Likely, they were having a similar exchange. And then, as if by unspoken accord, both Celebrimbor and Erestor moved forward, meeting at the bottom of the crystal stairs in a tight embrace.

"My friend."

"It is you," Talion heard Erestor gasp, seeing the ellon dig his fingers into Celebrimbor's shoulders as if he never intended to let go. "Oh, my friend, when last I saw you, I thought- … I never imagined, or I would not have left your side."

"And that is why I sent you to safety."

"Safety," Erestor laughed, without mirth. "Perhaps. Perhaps that is what you did. Perhaps when I said farewell to you, I knew, I thought it would be forever. For a very long time. Oh, it has been so long."

They parted then, and Erestor lifted a hesitant, reverent hand to the crown atop Celebrimbor's head.

"The Lord of the Holly," he sighed. "There is so much to tell you. Of- … Of the matter you entrusted me with. I often wondered whether I decided right, whether I advised Gil-Galad the way you would have wanted me to. But then he died, and I despaired. Or I would have. It was difficult, my friend. I knew not what to do or what to say."

"I gave the Rings to you, and not another," Celebrimbor said, ignoring the widening of his friend's eyes, who looked to Talion as if to check that he could be trusted with this. "Erestor, you always had the heart and strength and the wisdom to do the right thing."

"I wish to tell you all that happened until my sailing, there is so much of it, and I wish to hear from you as well. Perhaps you may tell me more about Tirion. But first, I wish to introduce you to my husband."

Talion startled at the term, and he saw Celebrimbor do the same as they both looked to the tall ellon who had hair like spun, curled gold wire.

"This is Glorfindel, once the Lord of the Golden Flower of Gondolin, and former Captain of the Last Homely House of Imladris."

"Well met," greeted them Glorfindel, extending his hand in a polite gesture. "Erestor has told me about you and your great friendship. It was, sadly, before my return."

"Return?" Celebrimbor said, the word escaping him almost involuntarily. He looked alarmed for a moment, and then quickly mirrored Glorfindel's gesture of greeting, belated though it was. "I thought that after the fall of Gondolin- …"

"I was reincarnated and by the will of the Valar I returned to Middle-earth, as my role was not yet fulfilled. That is when I met and married Erestor."

"I see." But even Talion could see that Celebrimbor did not, in fact, see. Then, directed at Erestor: "A Vanya husband? Really?"

Erestor only shrugged, and then gestured at their hands, linked together. He hadn't even noticed.

"I could ask you the same, dear old friend." When Talion and Celebrimbor shared a slightly horrified, slightly … _caught_ look, the dark ellon laughed. "Oh, I see. This is still a work in progress. I know how you are about your projects, I will let it rest."

"Projects!" huffed Talion then, and blushed. He hadn't said anything before, and this just slipped out of him. "I take offense!"

Thankfully, both Erestor and Glorfindel laughed.

"My apologies," said Erestor then. "I did not catch your name."

"Ah. The fault is mine. I am Amath, son of Limdir."

"You are not Ñoldor," remarked Glorfindel, scanning him from head to toe. Talion shifted uncomfortably under the much taller ellon's gaze.

"What does one's clan matter?" interjected Celebrimbor with a tightening of his hand around Talion's in a comforting gesture.

"Indeed. I apologize, I did not mean to allude to anything."

Erestor sighed, loud and long.

"Forgive my husband, he is unable to think about matters in any other way than a guard captain would."

"And you, my dear husband, still have the sweet tongue of a diplomat, saying things without saying them at all."

They looked at each other and smiled, and Talion instantly envied them this deep, obvious connection that ran through every word and gesture shared between them. But then again, these were Elves, and who knew for how long they had been married. These things took time.

"Will you join us at the festivities in the House of Finarfin?" asked Glorfindel then.

"I- …"

Worried, Talion tightened his grip on Celebrimbor's hand. They had kind of decided to attend. But perhaps, now faced with the actual House and the prospect of meeting – re-acquainting with? – so many people from his life was more daunting than expected. Talion tried to imagine having to walk into a palace full of his old friends and family. But it only reminded him of the abyss that was waiting for him instead, and his grip became tighter for an entirely different reason.

"You do not have to join me, if you do not want to, meldanya."

Talion lifted his head and met Celebrimbor's soft, understanding gaze.

"I don't want to leave you," he replied. They both heard its unsaid echo: _I don't want you to leave me_.

"If you are sure."

Neither of them was sure, really. But they had been invited, and at least Talion thought he would enjoy Elladan and Elrohir's strange, silent presences. And Olórin, if he was there. Because he very much expected Celebrimbor's attention and time to be commandeered by the other Elves who were old and powerful and shared so much history with him.

It would be fine.

To his surprise, Celebrimbor moved to shield Talion from the view of the other two ellyn, raising his hand to his lips.

"Nothing will change," he whispered, promised, but Talion was not reassured.

"That is not for you to decide, I think."

"I will not let circumstance dictate my life." A warm hand brushed briefly against Talion's cheek, gone again before he properly registered it. "I will not let anything separate me from you. Not now, not ever."

It was a futile promise, Talion knew that. But it nonetheless filled him with hope and gratitude to hear it. He hesitated only for a little before mirroring Celebrimbor's gesture, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Hearing his sharp, surprised intake of air was worth the anxiety he felt, and which would surely only magnify once they entered the House.

"Come now, I shall introduce you to Tirion's noble caste," Celebrimbor said.

Erestor and Glorfindel let them pass to enter first, secretly pleased smiles on both of their faces. Talion felt rather more scared than that, and he knew Celebrimbor too did not look forward to this much. But if they had to do it, then perhaps now was not so bad. Not so long as they had each other.

Celebrimbor took Talion's hand and put it snug in the crook of his elbow, just as they passed through the large front gate. At first, Talion thought that they had gone unnoticed, but when they got past what was likely the pearl white entrance hall and reached some sort of ball room perhaps, glinting and glistening with crystals and jewels, a few heads turned. Then, people started whispering, conversation slowly dying down as Celebrimbor led them past a throng of ellith and ellyn.

"Is that a Son of Fëanor?"

"Unmistakable, did you see his eyes?"

"Who invited a Fëanorian?"

"Is that Curufinwë?"

Talion felt Celebrimbor's flinch and put his free hand on his elbow as well, steadying and supportive. Was the likeness truly that great? In either case, he wished they would stop staring so, and really, gossiping should be below the dignity of creatures who thought they were so noble.

They entered a different room, this one containing less people, yet for some reason Talion felt as if this was worse. The room was not, for once, made up all in white, but instead filled with dark browns and warm reds, giving it a warm and cozy atmosphere.

About a dozen Elves were seated in a loose circle, each of them reclined comfortably among cushions and pillows. Some of them had bright hair, and others had hair as dark as night, but all of them had turned to look at them.

Oh, and there was Olórin, sitting by the fire. He winked at Talion, and he couldn't help but smile it return.

The first ones to move, however, were Elrohir and Elladan, who both rose from their seats and greeted them with joyful grins on their faces.

"We are happy you decided to join us after all," said one of them, perhaps Elladan, but before his twin could continue their speech of welcome, a hand rose. The hand was beautiful, in the way most Elven hands were, and it was adorned with many rings that reflected the fire's light in dizzying fractals. And it belonged to an ellon, who was clearly very powerful and had a commanding presence.

"Lord Finarfin," Celebrimbor said, and gently detached himself from Talion's grip, despite his mute protests. He then proceeded to step forward and kneel, bowing his head and extending both his hands as if in offering. Talion quickly bent his knee as well, though he was certain nobody was paying attention to him by now. "I am here to swear to you my fealty and my loyalty, demanding nothing in return but safe passage to and from your great city, Tirion upon Túna, for me and my companion."

For a few terrifying moments, there was only silence.

"Rise, Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, son of Fëanor," said Lord Finarfin finally. A few gasped, among them Elladan and Elrohir, yet most of them seemed to have already known. "Fëanor, who was mine half-brother. Thou art family, mine nephew, though distantly I admit. For family, Tirion's gates shall always be open, and for any who are thine friends. And word has reached me that thou art a Lord, that thou hast established a realm of our people in Middle-earth. And therefore, I ask thee, why shalt thou kneel as a Lord before another Lord?"

Celebrimbor gracefully rose to his feet again, his head still bowed.

"My Lord, I stand before you not as the Lord of the Holly, though you are right of course, and I was named such, long ago. Nor do I stand before you, claiming kinship or favor due to my blood and relations. I am here only as Celebrimbor, the jewel-smith, and I would ask to be judged only by merit of my skill and knowledge, not by my name or heritage."

Lord Finarfin tilted his head, revealing the finely crafted circlet that sat nestled upon his golden crown of hair, and regarded first Celebrimbor and then for a terrifying second even Talion. He quickly averted his gaze and clasped his hands in front of him, trying to look as demure as he could manage. Really, the only thing he could do was try to keep still and not do anything to ruin this important moment.

"Ringmaker," Lord Finarfin finally continued, sighing. Talion saw Celebrimbor flinch out of the corner of his eye. "That is also a name that thou hast earned. Shall I disregard it too?"

"Ringmaker I am, then," Celebrimbor said, voice rising. "For Ringmaker I am. I crafted this ring," he growled, pointing at one of the ladies who sat not in repose as the others, but with her back straight and her gaze sharp, "and I crafted that ring," he pointed at a dark haired ellon who sat near her, "and I crafted that ring also," he pointed at Olórin. "But if Ringmaker I am, then I am also Moonpainter, for I am he who helped cleave the doors of Khazad-dûm and closed them behind me in darkness where only a word of peace and friendship shall bring light again. And Suncatcher I am too, for I am he who took a measure of Anor's light and refracted it in crystal to make a jewel more beautiful than even my master's. And Dwarf-friend I am also, carrying proudly the mark of a great friendship with the folk of Mahal the Maker."

There was a pause, and Talion knew what went unsaid. Bright Lord. He who fought and thwarted the forces of Mordor, continually locked in battle with Sauron and his malicious power. But that was not a title for Celebrimbor alone to claim, so it was right that he said nothing.

Celebrimbor suddenly deflated, bowing again his head which he had raised in pride.

"If you will measure my worth, Lord Finarfin, measure it whole. The good and the bad, for that is who I am."

"And thou sweareth fealty to me? What use do I have, then, for the fealty of a Ringmaker? I have no need for rings, Rings of Power or not."

"I came here only to present myself to you, the Lord of the city of my birth, the Lord of the city that I all but live in and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future. If you have no need for me, I do not care. My intentions are as I said. I do not wish to be Lord. I am to be but a humble citizen, to use or ignore as you see fit."

Lord Finarfin then nodded, and it felt as if the entire room relaxed.

"Very well, Celebrimbor Jewel-smith. I accept and welcome thee to Tirion upon Túna."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"And thine companion?"

Talion froze and saw that Celebrimbor too had halted in his motion, clearly meant to take Talion and whisk him away. Not yet, it seemed.

"I am Amath," he said and stepped forward, kneeling again. "Son of Limdir, my Lord. I am no one of importance."

"I see. Tirion welcomes thee as well."

As he got back to his feet, a warm hand inserted itself into the crook of his elbow, half assisting him, half already pulling him away. Talion hid his sigh of relief. This room, these Elves. They unnerved him a little. Was it their status? Their age? Their mannerisms? Their clear dismissal of him and derision for anything not them?

"By your leave, my Lord."

The gilded hand rose, waving lazily, apparently in dismissal. Talion did not look back when Celebrimbor guided him out the door. A different door, thankfully, that took them away from the ballroom they had crossed before. Just as they reached some sort of hallway or perhaps a long, transitionary room, a voice stopped them.

"Cousin, it has been a long time."

Talion stopped and turned together with Celebrimbor, and they both froze at the sight of one of the ladies from before standing before them. She was tall and lovely, her hair shining silver and golden at the same time. Her eyes, deep and dark, rested on Talion for a few moments, feeling heavier than should be possible. Celebrimbor's hand tightened its grip on Talion's elbow, becoming almost painful.

"My Lady Galadriel. A long time indeed."

This was Galadriel, then. Talion took closer note of her appearance at this, observing her fine clothing and the shining circlet atop her brow. She was a noble, for certain. Perhaps related to Lord Finarfin, for both their bright hair?

"Had I known of your arrival this eve, I would have prepared perhaps words of joy and comfort, cousin. However, with the dawn of a new Age and my sailing to the shores of Aman, I find my foresight much reduced," she said, her voice deep and mellow. Lovely, much like the rest of her.

"You would offer me words of joy and comfort, when all I have offered you was pain and despair?"

"Yes, cousin. For pain and despair there was, yet if not for your help, we would have yielded to it. Instead, we persevered."

Talion felt Celebrimbor's full-body flinch rattle through their connection when Galadriel held out a hand – not in greeting or wishing to touch, he realized soon enough. There was something in her palm, something bright and shining, yet somehow also diminished and pale.

"I would return this to you, cousin, grateful for the service it has done me and those entrusted to me to protect."

" _Nenya_ ," Celebrimbor hissed. "You would return it to me? Knowing what- … how I- …"

An unreadable expression flickered across Galadriel's face, yet her hand wavered not.

"Yes. I would return this to you, for you sent it to me for safekeeping. I have kept it safe, perhaps, but even more so, it has kept me strong. It has protected my people. It has prevented much evil. And for this I would thank you. I can give you naught in return but what you gave me, so long ago, though faded as its power is now."

"I do not want power," Celebrimbor said, the words spitting from his mouth like poison. "I do not want a thing so corrupted, that will only remind me of- …"

He could not finish the sentence. His hand trembled so much now that it slipped from Talion's arm, and he quickly shifted to pull a tight arm around Celebrimbor's waist, to keep him from falling. They both gasped at the sudden lurch, the shift of weight. With a shudder, Celebrimbor righted himself again. He did not push Talion away, though, and he was grateful for it.

"Mithrandir and Elrond will return theirs to you as well," Galadriel continued, either passing over what had just happened because she did not care, or to spare them the discomfort, Talion knew not which. "Especially them. You gave theirs to Gil-Galad, so ever they were uncertain of the welcome they would find in the Rings. And they may be powerless now, but ever they have been calling us to Valinor. To you, it seems."

Celebrimbor laughed then, a mirthless sound.

"Oh, but dear cousin, I was not in Aman when you say you felt this call. Nay, they were not calling for me. Perhaps they were not calling at all, and it was only your own sea-longing."

"Or it was my foresight, telling me that I should be here, now, to return this to you."

A pause.

"I see you have not forgotten how to twist words like others would twist twine. Tell me, Artanis, how much of you has been twisted by the quiet whisperings of Nenya? Has it driven a wedge between you and Celeborn yet?"

Galadriel rocked back on her heels, as if feeling Celebrimbor's words as a physical blow. She quickly recovered, yet Talion thought she suddenly looked tired.

"And I see your tongue is as sharp as ever. Will you not accept that what you have done? Yes, it has caused suffering, but it has also helped. It was a burden, heavier than you can imagine, and there were days I resented you so for sending Nenya to me. You knew I craved power just like this, once upon a time. You know my weaknesses like almost no one else, and never were you hesitant to pry at them. But then I also knew that you trusted me. That you had hope. That you believed in my strength. And often, it was the only thing that kept me from succumbing to temptation." She hesitated, her hand falling a little, where it was still stretched out in offering. "Do you know, I was offered the One Ring."

Talion gasped in horror, hearing Celebrimbor echoing it.

"I resisted," she continued quickly, a small smile on her lips. "I resisted, cousin. Because of your belief in me. Because I could not disappoint you so."

"You?" Celebrimbor said. "You disappoint me? Galadriel, ever it has been the other way around."

"Perhaps it was so, when we were young, when you were an Elfling at my knee, when you were still such a painful reminder of Fëanor's foolishness." She took a deep breath. "The tables have turned, cousin. Much that I have done since I heard news of your death at the hands of the Enemy was in your name. I could not avenge you. But I could uphold the oath I made you."

"What oath? Galadriel, you did not- …" Celebrimbor surged forward, trembling again.

"I swore," she said gently, halting him. "I swore to keep this ring and do good with it. I know not whether I succeeded in that. But I have tried. And so now, at the end of its service, I would return this ring to its master."

All eyes then turned back to Nenya, sitting on the Lady Galadriel's palm. It was beautiful, Talion thought. But it was just a ring. Not a Ring anymore. Just a band of delicate mithril, and a white stone of adamant at its center.

Slowly, Celebrimbor reached out with one trembling hand, his other once more digging into Talion's side where he clung for support.

And then, with a voice that was commanding, he said: " _Á racë_."

With a loud, strangely reverberating _crack_ , Nenya broke in two. The stone of adamant rolled off Galadriel's palm and to the floor, while the base ring of mithril remained seated where it was. Talion stared at it dumbly, and then, for a mind-boggling second, met Galadriel's gaze. She looked just as thunderstruck as he felt.

"Celebrimbor, did you just," Talion started to say and then broke off. Celebrimbor was shaking.

"She obeyed me," he whispered. "I told her to break and she did."

Their gazes were drawn to the white adamant lying just before their feet. It was tiny, but Talion thought that even he could see the crack that went through the middle of it. Still, it was pretty. That it had once been a Ring of Power? One of the Three? Unimaginable.

"Keep it, cousin. I have no use for a flawed gem and mithril, except to melt it and sell it." Celebrimbor trembled, once, and then stilled again. "But I will need to do this to Narya and Vilya, too."

Galadriel remained silent as she quietly took the empty band of mithril, formerly Nenya, and put it on her finger again. Then, she said: "Wait here."

As soon as she had left and entered the room where they knew Lord Finarfin and his court were still sitting, Talion turned to Celebrimbor and grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him.

"Are you- … Why did you do that? It's just a ring. Or it was. Why did you have to go and destroy it?"

But Celebrimbor was unmoved, both literally and figuratively.

"It was not just a ring. It may have had no power anymore, but there was still magic clinging to it. Dark magic. Fear and death. They have to be purified." He turned his eyes, fierce and burning, to Talion. "Or do you not remember the New Ring?"

Grimly, Talion did remember. The New Ring, forged with good intentions, untouched by Sauron. And still it had twisted Celebrimbor's mind. Had influenced Eltariel. Driven them to betray Talion, leave him for dead. It had dominated minds and taken wills and stolen meaning. At the end, he knew there had been very little to distinguish it from the One Ring, aside from its appearance.

Before he could say anything else, he became aware of a presence and turned around. Galadriel had returned, with her a stern looking, dark haired ellon and Olórin. And behind them, lurking in the background stood Elladan and Elrohir, watching with glittering eyes. Talion wondered what they thought of this. Their abuse of their invitation. The deception of their identities. Perhaps he should speak with them.

"Give them to me," Celebrimbor said without preamble, holding out his hand.

Olórin was the first to relinquish his ring. At first, it had sat invisible on his hand, but once he touched it and pulled it off, Talion could see the blood red stone embedded in it. Narya.

Celebrimbor took it and held it between forefinger and thumb, peering at it from up close. And then he whispered: "Á quoro."

It was like watching a flame flickering, fighting, dying. Until nothing but embers were left. Even the stone had dulled, now a translucent, cloudy grey. Gone was all color from it, drained with the command. Celebrimbor dropped it to the ground as if it were nothing more than a piece of charcoal.

The dark ellon who supposedly carried Vilya did not move forward after this. His gaze was inquisitive and wary, but he showed none of it in his body language, though it was also partially hidden by his blue and golden robes. He tilted his head, relaxed, and then regarded Talion.

"Why did you give us a false name?"

Talion froze.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Cease this," Celebrimbor stepped in, physically shielding Talion from the view of the others with his body. "Return Vilya to me so I can purge it, Elrond Peredhel."

So, this was Elrond. Talion frowned.

"Purge it?" Elrond replied, raising an eyebrow. "Is that truly what you are doing? Or perhaps your intentions are different, and you have deceived us."

"Vilya!" Celebrimbor called out. "Vilya, á pusta!"

At first nothing happened. And then Elrond lifted his hand, Vilya appearing with a shimmer like the heat-illusions over a metal roof in summer.

"Gil-Galad entrusted this ring to me," said Elrond. "I intend to keep it safe, even now."

"But _she_ is not safe!"

Everyone stopped and stared at Celebrimbor, who gritted his teeth.

"Vilya is not safe," he repeated, more quietly. "Not for you. Not for anyone. I made her. She is not safe."

Something like a look of understanding softened Elrond's eyes.

"I assure you, Vilya remains untainted."

"Then you know nothing of the making of Rings," retorted Celebrimbor. "Or have you not felt the One's influence over Vilya, though the Dark Lord had no hand in her making? Their very existence was tied to his, touched or untouched. His death broke their magic, as was his intent. That they still exist – I cannot imagine what that means."

"All I know is that I would not have been able to establish Imladris, the Last Homely House east of the sea. I would not have been able to save many lives. The Eldar would have succumbed to the growing evil much quicker. Many would not have been able to travel to the Grey Haven to sail West. Nobody would have found help with us to destroy the One. It is thanks to Vilya that we have defeated the Enemy."

"None of that matters." Celebrimbor stepped closer, not minding Talion's restricting grip on his shoulders still. "What you do with them matters not. Only what they _are_."

"And what are they?"

"They are Sauron's. His." He raised his chin. "And mine. And thus, I will destroy them."

Elrond raised his hand, regarding Vilya with blank eyes.

"No," he said then. "I think you are wrong. But if it eases your mind."

"It will. Vilya, á pusta."

First, the ring shimmered again like a heat-illusion and disappeared from Elrond's finger. Talion thought that this was it, but then he heard the faint clatter of a stone on the floor. There, innocently glinting, was the sapphire that had sat atop Vilya. But it seemed that it was not over yet.

"Á pusta," Celebrimbor repeated, stepping closer to the blue jewel. It rattled, trembled, but nothing else happened. "Á pusta!" Again, it shook. This time, Celebrimbor bent to pick it up and hold it between his thumb and forefinger. "Vilya. Vilya, _á pusta_!"

With a sound like a thousand sighs, an invisible force exploding outward pushed them all back. It passed through them, rustling hair and tearing at clothing like a petulant hand. And then it dispersed. Talion shuddered and rearranged himself, making sure that his ears were covered.

"Is it done?" asked Olórin, a strange frown on his face.

"Yes. The Three Rings are gone." Celebrimbor stepped closer, back into Talion's space, and he gratefully looped his arm through the crook of Celebrimbor's elbow. "I thank you for your cooperation."

This earned him a wry smile from Elrond, who was now rubbing at the hand that had held Vilya.

"Perhaps you can make it up to us by joining us for dinner." His grey eyes shifted over to Talion, who met his gaze steadily, praying, knowing he had not given himself away. Yet. "You and your friend, of course. My sons invited you, after all."

As if on cue, the twins burst through, hair flying and eyes wide.

"We did not know, my Lord," said Elladan – or maybe it was Elrohir.

"We meant no disrespect," said the other one.

"We simply did not recognize you, Lord Celebrimbor."

"But it is an honor to meet you."

"Again."

"And Amath too, of course."

"You have just heard me rescind my lordship, Peredhilion. There is no need for all that," Celebrimbor said in a tone between irritation and exasperation. Then he turned to Talion. "Are you hungry?"

He shrugged.

"I could eat."

Honestly, he did not mind. These Elves were strange. Old, powerful, and all likely to tear each other to metaphorical ribbons with nothing but their words. But it might also be entertaining to watch. And if there was going to be food …

"Lead the way, then."

///

There were four long tables, decked with white, perfectly symmetrical and adorned with plates of gold and crystal glass. Flowers in all the colors of the rainbow sprouted from vases set between arrangements of candles, and through the air filtered the gentle tones of music. It was nothing like the percussive music that had compelled Talion to dance. This was mournful flutes and wistful harps that warped into ethereal harmonies, thin like silk perhaps – raw, spider silk floating upon a morning breeze. It made Talion's ears itch.

There seemed to be no seating arrangements, aside from the seat at the head of the first table that was reserved for Lord Finarfin. Around him sat who Talion assume to be his wife and the rest of his family. Other than that, he saw no discernible pattern.

Of course, Celebrimbor had been canny enough to get them seated exactly opposite Erestor and Glorfindel.

"How were things with your uncle?" Erestor greeted them, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Oh, quiet." Celebrimbor snapped his napkin in his friend's direction. "We're still here, aren't we?"

"I wasn't going to let us leave without at least trying to eat the Lord out of house and home," Talion added, earning himself a smirk from the others. "What? I said I'm hungry."

"I like him."

This time the napkin got thrown at Erestor, who calmly snatched it out of the air before it could actually hit him.

"How immature of you, mellon-nín." He clicked his tongue. "Having such a young … friend is apparently doing wonders for your aging constitution."

"Watch yourself, Erestor. Next time I'll throw the knife instead of a napkin."

Thankfully, they were soon interrupted by servants bringing out plates of food. Most of it was vegetables, soups, salads and fruit, light and easy on the stomach. Talion dug in, nonetheless.

"How are you liking the food here, in comparison to the festival down on the lower levels?" Celebrimbor asked him, after he polished off his first plate.

Talion paused, chewing, and washed down a mouthful of salad with water. Celebrimbor wouldn't let him have the Elvish wine they served, but then again, he knew that was probably for the best.

"I much prefer the finger food they served earlier," he finally said.

Glorfindel laughed.

"Anything is finger food if you are only brave enough!"

"Don't give him ideas," Celebrimbor groaned, long-suffering.

"Too late." Talion leaned across the banquet table, grabbing himself a handful of strange fruit slices, and proceeded to stuff his face with them.

"Glorfindel!"

"What? It is only a jest, meleth-nín."

"Can you not conduct yourself in a manner befitting your station for one evening?"

"What do you mean! I am perfectly chivalrous!"

Talion ignored the couple sitting opposite them, in favor of meeting Celebrimbor's unimpressed stare. His own cheeks were bulging with food – those fruit were delicious – and his lips were dripping with juice. For that very reason, he was both deeply troubled and also unable to do anything, when Celebrimbor reached out to grasp his chin and run the pad of his thumb along Talion's bottom lip. He had only enough wherewithal to keep himself from choking when Celebrimbor proceeded to put said thumb in his own mouth, licking off any residue.

The bickering had stopped. Talion knew that both Erestor and Glorfindel had to be staring at them, but he couldn't move. Couldn't look away from Celebrimbor's challenging gaze, or the thumb still caught between his teeth.

"Perhaps you two require some privacy?"

Celebrimbor blinked lazily, finally, and turned away to … say something. Talion's ears were ringing. His mouth was still full. He should probably chew.

Talion let his gaze wander a little as he finished eating his assortment of fruit, fighting the blush on his cheeks. Most Elves around them were Ñoldor, of course, but he spotted the contingent of Sindar at the table behind them, and Galadriel's bright hair in the immediate vicinity of Lord Finarfin. When he looked in that direction, his gaze was suddenly met by a cool, grey set of eyes, framed by dark hair and a golden circlet. Elrond.

Taking a deep breath, he finished his sweep of the guests attending this Midsummer dinner, trying not to let it show how unnerved he was. There was just something about Elrond that gave him the chills. He was nothing like his sons, who despite their alien manners and seeming twin-psychic powers were warm and friendly. He was also nothing like Galadriel, who despite her evident powers and wisdom did not make one shake in one's boots with a single glance.

Talion absentmindedly reached for his cup and drank from it, only noticing belatedly that it was wine instead of water. Cursing, he slammed the goblet back down, doubled over from the unexpected sharpness of alcohol on his tongue and in his throat. Heavens, even his stomach ached from it.

"Are you alright?" came Celebrimbor's concerned voice.

Talion coughed.

"I think someone swapped our goblets by accident," he finally managed to croak. Elvish wine really was much stronger than what he had ever tasted. It _burned_.

"No, I don't think so. Mine still contains wine also."

Talion righted himself, embarrassedly wiping away tears that the strength of this hellish concoction had driven to his eyes. He met Erestor and Glorfindel's worried looks with what he hoped was a convincing smile.

"I'm sorry, I expected plain water, it just surprised me."

They seemed to relax a little, but still did not divert their attention away from them. Celebrimbor, next to him, was coldly chewing out their waiter, if the tone of his voice was any indication. Talion did not understand his crisp, rough Quenya, but the poor ellon seemed torn between blushing red in embarrassment and going pale with shock.

"It was done at the behest of Lord Elrond," the ellon finally squeaked, quivering where he stood.

"Lord Elrond?" Celebrimbor snapped. "Ludicrous! Why would he do such a thing?"

"I know not, brannon-nín, I swear to you, I only did as I was commanded."

Celebrimbor dismissed him with a wave of his hand and moved as if to rise from his seat. Panicked, Talion grabbed his arm. At least this got his attention.

"Don't," he hissed imploringly. "We don't want any trouble with Lord Elrond."

"Trouble?" Celebrimbor growled back, far too loud to Talion's taste. "Who does that arrogant upstart think he is?"

"Celebrimbor!" To Talion's surprise, it was Erestor who intervened, looking furious enough to set fire to the floral décor between them with his gaze alone. "You would speak thus of Gil-Galad's herald? The stalwart protector of Elvendom in Middle-earth through the entire Third Age? I owe him my life, my happiness and my purpose. If not for himself, I implore you to at least grant him the respect he deserves for being my friend also."

"You're still a diplomat to the core, aren't you," Celebrimbor huffed.

"And you still run head first into walls, like always."

This seemed to calm Celebrimbor's ire, if just a little. At least he sat back down, his arm not as stiff as metal under Talion's fingers anymore. His eyes still betrayed his anger, however. He turned to Talion, who could only watch, helpless.

"He knows, doesn't he?" Talion breathed. Elrond knew that he was an impostor. He knew that he had no place here, in the Undying Lands. Paradise was not made for Man, and he was a trespasser. They would come for him, now, surely – had he already called for justice, intended Talion to drink himself senseless on the much stronger Elvish wine so he could be carted away quietly? Were there guards waiting to snatch him up as soon as he left the room?

Perhaps he saw some of Talion's terror in his eyes, for Celebrimbor's face finally softened also, leaving nothing behind but thin terror and fatigue.

"He may suspect, but he has no proof. And if he has resorted to such childish means," he glanced at Erestor at this, frowning thunderously, "he certainly cannot act on his suspicions yet."

"This is all my fault – I am the one who insisted we attend."

"No, T- …" Celebrimbor caught himself just in time. He grimaced and took Talion's hands in his. "Amath. It is my fault, if anyone's. I did not think. I should have taken care of Vilya some other time, without you present. He might have never met you. Or perhaps I should have- …"

"What is going on?"

Talion and Celebrimbor both startled, having all but forgotten about Erestor and Glorfindel, who both looked at them with wide eyes.

"If there is trouble with Lord Elrond," Glorfindel said, "I would be happy to mediate. I'm sure it is just a misunderstanding. My Lord is very generous, there is certainly some sort of compromise to be- …"

"No," Celebrimbor growled. "There is no misunderstanding, and there will be no compromise. _Lord_ Elrond should mind his own business and let me and my own have the privacy we deserve."

Glorfindel's eyes widened further, but he remained silent then. Next to him, Erestor seemed to steel himself.

"Whatever the matter is, we would be happy to mediate, nonetheless. I shall convey to Lord Elrond that you are my friend, and I will vouch for you."

Talion shuddered.

"No."

All heads turned, and the three Elves regarded him with a wide range of disbelief and shock.

"This is- …" Talion cleared his throat, fighting the tears threatening to spring to his eyes. He caught Celebrimbor's gaze, holding it as steadily as he was able. "This is because of me. I will not have anyone else … vouch for us, or otherwise make themselves liable. I won't have it."

"But- …"

"No, Celebrimbor." He tightened his grip and shook his arm a little. "No. I want you to promise me."

"What could possibly be- …" Erestor began to say, incredulous and not just a little suspicious. Before he could continue, they were interrupted.

A bell rang, sweet and lovely, silencing the discussions and conversations at all the tables, turning heads towards the front. Lord Finarfin stood there, proud and tall, the Lady Galadriel by his side. He spoke, his words flowing honeyed and languid. Talion did not understand, but he felt a solemn mood take over the guests.

"What is going on?" he whispered to Celebrimbor, his heart still racing. There was no answer required, as Galadriel stepped forward and opened her mouth – to sing. Talion did not need to understand her words to know that she sang of deep, bitter longing. Of the joy of remembrance, lost to time and distance. The sweet ache of it was echoed in the faces of many around them, moving some even to tears. A few sang along, a deep, almost unconscious hum that underlay Galadriel's hymn. Talion heard Erestor's dulcet tenor joining beautifully with Glorfindel's smooth voice in a harmony that betrayed their connection that went deeper than body and soul.

Next to Talion, Celebrimbor remained silent and still.

"She sings of the sea-longing," he whispered, low enough that likely no one else would hear him. "The urge that summons the Eldar of Middle-earth back to these shores. But we were banished from returning, once. Because of the deeds of my kin, we were forsaken."

"But you are banished no more."

"No." Celebrimbor turned in his seat, watching Galadriel up on the dais. "She was pardoned. Though she remained in Middle-earth long after having been granted permission to sail. It was my fault, you know. She stayed because of Nenya."

Talion swallowed, remembering the Ring. He thought he spotted its empty vessel on her finger. Now only a ring. A pretty trinket.

"It sounds a little like the dreams we used to have," Talion whispered, his gaze caught on the remains of Nenya on Galadriel's hand, even as Celebrimbor's attention returned to him. "We would sing songs like this – not of sea-longing or dreaming of a distant land's comforts. We would sing, before a battle or after, not knowing, fearing always for our dead. We would imagine … There was comfort in belief, then."

He finally tore his eyes from the ring's dull shine, to meet Celebrimbor's eyes.

"Now I know. There is nothing. We hoped, then, too. We sang, too. Not knowing that all that awaits us after death is darkness. An uncaring, empty abyss."

He did not realize until after he felt Celebrimbor's arms around him, his face buried in the warm crook of his neck where the collar and hair tickled his skin, that he was crying. Oh well, he was not the only one.

Just the only one to shed tears not for a past longing that had been fulfilled against all hope. No, he shed tears for the destruction of his faith. For all the souls now lost to him, for they had gone into the darkness before him, without him. Ioreth and Dirhael first and foremost. But his parents, too. His mentor and father in law. His friends, his comrades, his brothers-in-arms. Everyone he had ever met or known, they were gone, swallowed by the great abyss that waited, uncaring, for the souls of Men, to render them mute and dark. One day, he knew he would have to join them.

"I will not leave you," he heard Celebrimbor's promise, fierce and fearful. "I am here. I will not leave you, not ever."

Talion sobbed, grateful for the empty promise. Yes, Celebrimbor would not leave him. He knew it, believed it with all of his heart. It was Talion who one day would have to abandon him, willing or not.

///

They said their goodbyes to Erestor and Glorfindel after the banquet, deciding to leave before dancing began. There was a strange tension, surely because of words unsaid between Celebrimbor and Erestor, because of their suspicion regarding Talion and the strange involvement of Lord Elrond. But they said nothing of it, letting them go in peace.

Such were the ways of Elves. They could wait and say, 'another time', because time meant nothing to them. Talion clung bitterly to Celebrimbor, perhaps squeezing his hand too hard. Either way, he said nothing of it.

They left the House of Finarfin, descending the crystal stairs undisturbed except for the burning gazes of Erestor and Glorfindel watching them depart.

"Do you wish to join the Midsummer celebrations again?" Celebrimbor asked him, strangely hesitant and cautious.

"No." Talion shook his head. "I want to go home."

Had it really only been a day? Not even that, it was this morning that he had woken with joy in his heart, looking forward to going to Tirion and enjoying the festivities there. And how he returned, a shadow hanging over him like the eclipse of a moon. He felt Celebrimbor struggling, trying to cheer him, but such was not his nature. He, too, was rather a creature of solemn silences and gravity.

Had it really only been a few hours? They had been dancing, had they not, moving so closely Talion thought there was no barrier between them anymore. It had been like feeling the cold pressure of the Wraith in his head and his heart again, foreign and strange, but not unwelcome. He wondered where this familiarity had gone, as he withdrew his hand from Celebrimbor's grip, no longer able to bear its warmth.

Still, Celebrimbor kept pace with him across the floodplains, on the forest paths, no matter how much Talion slowed his steps. Even when he came to a halt, in a spot he knew only minutes away from their house.

Was it really home? He did not belong.

"I can all but hear your thoughts spinning and descending into darkness, and my heart aches for it."

Talion raised his head, meeting Celebrimbor's ardent gaze with a flinch.

"We should have known that we could not keep it secret forever," he said, startled at first at the rough sound of his own voice. "First, you were recognized. And it wasn't so bad, was it? But now Elrond suspects, or rather, he knows and is merely without proof for now. He will tell others, and they will banish me to the fate that the Valar have deemed worthy of Men."

"No, I will protect you, I can- …"

"What will you do?" Talion interrupted him. "It doesn't matter, I won't let you anyway. You cannot fight them. There is nothing to do or say that will – what? Convince them that the fate of Men is unjust? That I should remain here to live out the rest of my years? I will _leave_ you, Celebrimbor. One day, sooner or later."

There was anguish then, twisting Celebrimbor's features into a mask of grief, until it evened off like ripples upon a lake.

"Talion."

"I swore it to myself, that day you left me to die," Talion said, ignoring Celebrimbor's visible flinch. "I swore that my fate would be my own. But it never was. I – _Men_ were always meant to die alone and abandoned."

"I will not allow it," Celebrimbor said, stubborn, and Talion wished so much to reach out to him, soothe him. It would be for naught.

"We can't just ignore this," he continued. "I will not hide and turn away now. Let them come, let them judge me or kill me, it matters not. I won't spend the rest of my life, however short, pretending that the threat does not exist."

"That's not what I meant." Celebrimbor stepped closer then, his feet cautious and silent on the leaf-littered ground as only a hunter would know how. His head was still crowned by the leaves and berries of holly, and in the twilight mood of the forest he looked … unwavering. His hands reached out and plucked Talion's out of the air, pulling a little. He had no choice but to follow.

"What did you mean?" He was almost afraid to ask this. The air around them grew heavy all of a sudden, and Talion felt his heart begin to race – he was bracing himself, fight or flight. Yet he remained still, letting Celebrimbor hold him. Ensnare him.

"I meant …" His breath hitched, palpable against Talion's own breast. "I meant this."

And then he was kissing him. Talion gasped into it, feeling as if he should burst apart at the seams if not for the warmth of Celebrimbor surrounding him, those broad, calloused palms framing his face, cradling him so gently. His lips were not soft and yielding, they were – they were- …

Before he could even properly register the feeling of Celebrimbor's mouth on his, he withdrew again, his breath brushing over Talion's face like the caress of a morning's first sunlight.

"I would pledge myself to thee," he whispered, trembling. "Hröa to hröa, fëa to fëa. Bound together for the rest of the Song of Arda. If you would have me, I would never leave you."

And Talion stood frozen on the precipice, feeling as if there was no choice but to fall forward and let gravity take him. He leaned in, brushing his mouth against Celebrimbor's, finding a strange thrill in the fact that he did not have to stoop – they were of equal height.

Still, he hesitated, fought what he knew was inevitable, if the ache in his heart and body was to mean anything at all.

"I would still leave you, eventually. You cannot change the fact that I am mortal."

But Celebrimbor smiled, and it was a dark, dangerous thing.

"Exceptions have been made before," he said. "And I may not be the greatest poet and orator that ever lived, but I'd do my damnedest to put Lúthien Tinúviel to shame, should I be forced to do so. Or perhaps it is you who would follow in the steps of Tuor, seeing as you have already bypassed the Ban, as he did."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Talion admitted, smiling with a giddiness that threatened to overwhelm him.

"It matters not." Celebrimbor stepped closer, impossibly so, still intent. "Will you give me an answer, Talion?"

"I heard no question."

Celebrimbor huffed and rolled his eyes, a gesture that suddenly appeared to Talion so endearing he could do naught but lean forward again and slot their mouths together in a kiss. Chaste and simple. But it sent sparks along his nerves, and he wondered if he had ever felt like this before. Perhaps he had, a long time ago.

"The question," Celebrimbor said, delightfully out of breath, "is whether you will agree to bind yourself to me, and let me bind myself to you, in a marriage that is beyond mere oaths and vows. We would be bound in a union before the Valar, more sacred and profound than anything else there is. You must understand this, before you say anything."

Talion opened his mouth, already knowing the answer in his heart, but Celebrimbor interrupted him with a hand above his breastbone.

"I would not usurp the place of your wife in your heart," he continued, ignoring Talion's attempts at protest. "I would never ask that of you. She and your son shall remain untouched, in memory and in your thoughts."

"I wasn't afraid of that," Talion said gently. "And if I have to never see them again – I already came to terms with that long ago."

"Then- …?"

"I accept."

This time, the kiss was different. Talion, for one, was not merely surprised or overwhelmed by it. And there was an urgency there, now, that had been missing both the times before, and it made everything all the sweeter. The drag of Celebrimbor's lips on his was nearly unbearable, making his insides shiver apart and light up in ways that he hadn't experienced in such a long time he was oversensitive to everything. His hands buried themselves in dark hair, feeling its cool, smooth texture with an awe that only added to the fervor with which he kissed Celebrimbor. When he accidentally encountered the sharp leaves of holly still adorning his head, Celebrimbor growled impatiently and tore the wreath from his crown and tossed it away without even looking. Talion's following laughter was swallowed by further kisses, lingering, trailing across his mouth and his face.

"Perhaps we should go home," he said later, still laughing, though now he clutched Celebrimbor to his front with a new sense of possessiveness and adoration than before. He let himself be waylaid again by a distracting mouth, and pressed that strong, Elvish body against the rough bark of a tree. How different things were, now. And then again, this had been long in the making.

As he discovered, Celebrimbor was remarkably responsive to any touch when he was like this, and Talion shivered in anticipation, wanting to find out all the ways he might teach this beautiful creature how to be pleased. For he reminded himself, as he kissed a curved ear, that Celebrimbor was no Man. He was immortal, and yet still he offered himself to Talion like this, when it was so different for his kind.

He kissed Celebrimbor again, suddenly awash with an awe and gratitude that surpassed even the novelty of intimate touches exchanged.

"Are you sure about this," he whispered, clenching his eyes shut, because he had to know. This meant so much more than Talion could probably comprehend. Elves, he knew, only loved once. And to them, love and intimacy were the same.

"Talion," Celebrimbor sighed. He moved his hands, that had been stroking his back and cradling the nape of his neck, to pull his head towards him, so it may rest in the junction of shoulder and throat. "We do not have to marry tonight. In fact, I would rather we waited. We need to think about this separately and speak about it together. Though I vote to forego the full year of betrothal that is traditional."

Talion laughed, the sound muffled against Celebrimbor's shoulder.

"I agree."

"Then it is lucky I have already made us betrothal rings."

This made him lift his head, looking at Celebrimbor in astonishment, which was only met with calm certainty.

"You thought about this before," Talion breathed.

"I have."

Talion blinked, his thoughts racing. He suddenly connected dots that had been previously unrelated, and he blurted out: "The silver you purchased. You didn't use it for Lady Idhrenil's gift, you- …"

"Silver is traditionally the metal from which betrothal rings are wrought, yes."

Taking a deep breath, Talion brought some distance between them, only to link their hands together. All of a sudden, this gesture meant so much more, and he wondered – had this really always been there? It must have.

"Show me," he said.

Their house was not far, and the forge, though quiet and cold now, was open to them. They stepped inside together as if it were a shared space, and Talion looked at his cozy corner, seeing now that it truly was. The rings were barely even hidden, in a small drawer where Talion thought Celebrimbor kept his more delicate tools. Perhaps he had, once, before he made these.

The pair sat on Celebrimbor's palm, raised for Talion's inspection. He could already tell they had been made with them in mind, no doubt perfectly sized. He picked up the first, knowing it was Celebrimbor's. It was silver, yes, but it looked like brushed steel, its exterior smooth yet rippling, in places reflective like water. Or perhaps like fire, in the right light.

Next to it, Talion's ring was a little broader, to make space for the carvings on its surface. At first glance, they looked like nonsensical patterns, crisscrossing in seeming disarray. But Talion's eye was drawn, and the longer he looked at it, the better he understood.

Celebrimbor had engraved the White Tree of Gondor onto it, its branches looping around and around to infinity.

"They are perfect," he said, knowing that Celebrimbor had been waiting for his verdict. Anxiously, if his response was any indication, for he surged forward to capture Talion's mouth in a searing kiss.

They parted, laughing, and Talion grasped Celebrimbor's left hand, parting his fingers with soft pressure on the palm and thumb joint.

"Which one?" he asked, brandishing the betrothal ring. Celebrimbor answered by wiggling the middle finger of his left hand.

"And you?" he whispered, breath hitching as Talion slid the ring onto his finger. It fit perfectly, of course, not that he had any doubts.

He hesitated.

"The same."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. The- … I wore Ioreth's ring on the second to last finger, as is the tradition among Men. But this is not according to these traditions."

Celebrimbor's gaze was soft and understanding.

"I already promised you that I would not replace her."

"No," Talion protested softly, allowing Celebrimbor to take his hand. "I know that. And this isn't about that. It … would be suspicious, anyway, if I did not wear it on the same finger."

Celebrimbor made a low noise but said nothing else, sliding the ring onto Talion's finger as he had done before.

"Are there to be words?" Talion asked, suddenly nervous.

"None are required. Unless you wish to say something?"

"Only …" He swallowed, looking at the silver ring shining on his hand now, entwining his finger with the lost branches of the White Tree of Gondor. "Only that I will work every day to not make you regret this decision."

Celebrimbor laughed and kissed him again, visibly relieved.

"Then there is nothing you have to do at all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Translations:_  
>  Meldanya - my darling (Q.)  
> Ellith/Ellyn - plural of female/male Elves (S.)  
> Á racë - break! (Q. imperative)  
> Á quoro - suffocate! (Q. imperative)  
> Á pusta - halt/stop! (Q. imperative)  
> Mellon-nín - my friend (S.)  
> Meleth-nín - my love (S.)  
> Brannon-nín - my lord (S.)
> 
> The song Galadriel sings is called "Galadriel's Lament" or simply "Namárië" (Q.: farewell). There is a beautiful version by the Tolkien Ensemble if you google for it or on Spotify.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think I see a silver lining - I'm aiming for six chapters, so hold your breath folks.
> 
> Lotsa name dropping again in this one I apologize ... Maybe keep a wiki page with an ancestry tree at the ready? xD Translations of Sindarin/Quenya in the end notes.
> 
> Enjoy!

The most remarkable thing about their betrothal was that nothing really changed. Sure, Talion now woke more often than not to kisses – and the kisses exchanged between them were mostly chaste, true, but there were also the occasionally heated ones that made Talion's toes curl whenever he thought about them. But having known each other for so long, they apparently just skipped all awkwardness, settling right into a rhythm that spoke true.

Perhaps the most profound change was the fact that Talion had to restrain himself from making jokes about rings and Rings of Power that he wasn't sure would be appreciated.

Talion had not forgotten, of course, what had sparked their decision to take their relationship further. True, perhaps this potential had always been there, ripe for the taking. There had to have been a reason why people frequently mistook them as a couple, after all. But they still needed to discuss this decision in more detail, drawing the new lines in the sand so to speak. And ever Talion felt the cold shadow of his impending doom upon them. Not even Celebrimbor's always warm presence could dispel it, try as he might.

But for a short while, they could pretend for a little that everything was alright, shadow or no. It was as if a door had been opened. There was no need to hold anything back anymore, and it was a greater comfort than Talion could ever have imagined falling asleep in the circle of Celebrimbor's arms; to greet him in the morning with a kiss and an embrace; to know that if there had been any barriers left between them, they were gone now.

It was a time of reprieve, and surely it had to end. But it would not at their hands. They were promised to each other, but for now they pretended that they had time.

Talion had gone hunting one day, less out of necessity for meat or fur or bones, and more for an excuse to get out and into the forest. As he picked up the trails of woodland animals, he also stopped and bent to examine and pick herbs he encountered that were known to him: leaves to steep in water for tea, some that could be used for seasoning, for medicine, for preservation. Berries, too, and mushrooms and the occasional root. Even a few flowers. They would not keep, he knew that, but he felt like it, the levity in his heart mirrored by their ever-soft petals. So, he tucked them into his pack, careful not to squash them, and continued on.

In the end he did little more than making a half-hearted attempt at shooting a fat wood grouse, watching a fox go about his business, and steering clear of boar tracks he found near a stream. Still, he was satisfied. He wasn't returning empty handed despite everything, and he'd been able to use his skills again.

Upon his return home, however, his heart sank. The forge was still lit, but empty. And smoke rose from the chimney above the kitchen hearth. Someone had come to visit them, and Celebrimbor had not had the time to properly take care of things before attending whoever had come calling.

He quickly checked that his hair covered his ears and opened the door. Sitting at the kitchen table, his hands clenched into fists in front of him, he saw Celebrimbor. And facing him, Lord Elrond.

Neither of them turned around as Talion stepped inside and hung Azkâr above the fireplace. He checked the stew boiling there and added a few of the fresh herbs he'd gathered for seasoning. The others he quietly spread out to wash, sort and dry later.

"Mae govannen, Lord Elrond," Talion said finally, breaking the icy silence. He crossed the room to stand behind Celebrimbor, placing his hands on his shoulders. After a few moments, he felt him relax, just a little. It did nothing to soothe Talion's own nerves, but he now worried less that things might come to blows.

"Indeed, well met again … Amath, is it?"

Talion nodded.

"I believe," Elrond continued, "felicitations are in order."

"There was no need to deliver congratulations in person," Celebrimbor replied stiffly.

"Perhaps. But I was told by our mutual friend Erestor that it may be prudent to extend a hand in friendship. That after Midsummer, I should ensure that there are no misunderstandings between us." Lord Elrond folded his hands in front of himself and looked between them. "I see that he was right, and there are tensions I was unaware of before."

"He often is right, even when we would rather that he was not." Celebrimbor huffed. "In matters of state, there are none who rival the worth of his counsel."

Elrond nodded slowly.

"In that, at least, we agree. And I apologize for any offense I may have inadvertently caused on Midsummer. Which seems to be the case, if my reception here is any indication."

Celebrimbor stiffened again under Talion's hands, and he squeezed gently to silence him.

"The wine," Talion said carefully.

Lord Elrond looked at him with grey eyes that despite their coloring reminded him of a hawk's scrutiny.

"What of it?"

"You had a servant refill his goblet with wine instead of water," Celebrimbor hissed, his hands curling into fists again.

"I- … I had not meant to offend," said Elrond, blinking. "I realized that I may have spoken harshly before, in defense of Vilya. I thought to smooth things over. Now I see that I have done the opposite, but I do not understand why."

"He doesn't drink wine."

Lord Elrond still looked troubled, and Talion had to wonder whether it was an act or not. Surely, he would not try to deceive them? It had to be sincere, then. And from that followed the conclusion that Talion may not be in danger of being discovered after all. He felt a sudden surge of such relief that he felt Celebrimbor react as well, perhaps sensing the burden being lifted from Talion's heart.

"No harm was done," Talion said, attempting a wan smile, and patted Celebrimbor's shoulder. As soon as he had done so, however, he rose from his chair and looked at him with unreadable eyes.

"I should see to it that my forge doesn't burn down the entire forest," he muttered, brushing past him, and walked out the door without looking back.

Once he was gone, Elrond raised an eyebrow.

"He is not an easy one to appease," he said, looking Talion up and down as if he had the secret to taming Celebrimbor's moods hidden on his person. "Though I suppose that runs in the family."

"Perhaps the secret is not likening him to his uncles at every turn," Talion shot back, sharply, without quite meaning to.

"Ah. I suppose that might help."

Talion then gathered some of his courage and turned his back on Lord Elrond, returning to his task of cleaning, sorting and spreading the herbs he had gathered and his other spoils of the forest. He found a place to put the flowers, bunching them gently so they might draw from water and sunlight to live yet a little longer.

"You are an herbalist?" Elrond asked after a while, clearly having been watching him work.

"Hardly," Talion snorted. "I know just enough not to poison anyone, and how to treat minor battle wounds. Not that any of that is a concern here, in the Undying Lands."

"Still, it is a valuable skill. Have you considered joining the Healer's Guild? We have more than enough to do, truth be told, between the new arrivals by ship and the concerns of those already living in Aman. Childbirth, for one, delightfully. We would always be grateful for another pair of knowledgeable hands who can at least tell a weed from a useful plant."

"We?" Talion craned his neck to look at Elrond, who inclined his head.

"Yes. I am a healer, and a scholar. And I wonder why you would ever need Devil's club or currant."

Talion stilled in his motions, having just separated the herbs and berries for later use.

"They are for Celebrimbor," he lied, continuing to pick and sort, feigning calm. "I know he does not feel the heat, and it harms him not. But still I have to watch him treat molten metal as if it were water. I like to keep ingredients for a poultice at the ready."

"Who taught you? You seem to have a keen eye for plants, for one who says he is no herbalist."

"My mother taught me."

"You grew up in a forest, then?"

"And am I being interrogated?" Talion shot back, frowning. Behind him, he could hear Elrond sigh.

"I apologize. I am merely curious about the … chosen partner of one so widely known and acclaimed as Celebrimbor Curufinion, Ringmaker and Lord of Eregion. You must understand, the ruling caste of the Ñoldor is a tightly knit group of a select few families that more often than not are related to each other in complex ways." He paused. "You are quite the anomaly, Amath. Nobody has heard of you before, and you present yourself as a simple creature of lesser birth. How did you meet Celebrimbor?"

Talion silently stirred the boiling stew over the kitchen fire a few times, staring contemplatively into its flames. Then he crossed his arms and faced Elrond.

"If you are curious about me, I will tell you. You are right, I am of humble birth. I led a simple life. I fought in wars that could not be won, and I died a death that went unremarked. Despite all of that, I joined Celebrimbor after we were reincarnated, here, in paradise. We built this house with our own hands, seeking only to live humbly and independently. Now, we are promised to each other, to be married soon. But we have apparently not found peace yet."

Some flicker of emotion passed across Elrond's features then, too quick for Talion to catch and read, but he thought that at least he had been heard. Before the Elf-lord could reply, the door opened, admitting Celebrimbor, who looked between them with a set jaw, tight with anger, or perhaps worry.

"Horses approach. I hear two sets."

"I shall open the stables, then," Talion said, passing through the still open door. He saw Celebrimbor poised to speak, eyes trained on Elrond where he still sat. There were to be words and had Talion Elven ears he would be able to hear them. Instead, he unlatched the stable doors and prepared the boxes inside for occupation. He knew that Celebrimbor would tell him later what Elrond had said and done.

When Talion returned outside, he was only mildly surprised to see Elladan and Elrohir approaching on horseback, matched in every aspect of their appearance and movements. They saluted him and halted their horses, looking at Talion intently.

"We know our father is here," said the first. Elladan, Talion decided.

"We learned too late that he had intended to visit you," added Elrohir.

"It is our fault."

"Had we not exposed your identities, you would have the quiet you wish for."

"We know how our father can be."

"We hope he has not overstepped in his eagerness."

Talion raised a hand to stop the flood of twin voices.

"It's alright. He has apologized for some things, though I admit we have not made things easy. There were misunderstandings, but such can be cleared."

The twins looked relieved and thanked him profusely when he offered to take their horses to be stabled. As Talion unsaddled Elladan's horse, however, he saw that they still hovered outside.

"You can go in," he told them.

"But they are arguing," Elrohir whispered.

"We do not want to interrupt."

Talion paused, clutching the saddle to his chest. Damn. He had not heard it of course, but naturally the twins' sharper ears must have picked up voices.

"I think," Talion said, "that if you were to go inside now, they might stop arguing."

The twins exchanged a look and then nodded at him.

"You are right."

"We did not think of that."

And so Elladan went forward to open the door, causing the entwined voices of Elrond and Celebrimbor to spill out like dirty, sudsy washing water, foaming and biting. They stopped almost immediately, but the damage was done. The twins seemed to brace themselves before going in, closing the door behind them, and Talion went back to unsaddling the horses and brushing them down before offering them water and something to chomp on.

By the time he returned inside, he already knew that tempers must have cooled, so he wasn't worried.

"Did you get it out of your system?" Talion asked Celebrimbor and moved over to loop his arm around his waist and kiss first his cheek and then his mouth. Because that was allowed now, no, expected even. He felt nearly all of the tension leave Celebrimbor's body, resulting in an unhappy hum as he returned the kiss.

"He is very protective," said Elrond, a little stiffly.

"And rightly so, it seems, for despite having rescinded my lordship and denied all the ties that come with it, still we are bothered as if we were meant to assimilate into the high caste," Celebrimbor responded.

"You may have officially done so," Elrond continued, "yet you cannot refuse your blood or the history you share with most of Tirion's ruling class."

Talion grimaced, bracing himself.

"My blood?" came the expected outcry. "It is others who continually force that connection upon me. I have not set foot in the House of Fëanor since my return, yet I am accosted and reprimanded as if I had proclaimed myself the head of said House, or the new Fëanor."

"You cannot ignore your heritage, Celebrimbor."

"Watch me."

Unexpectedly, it was the twins that stepped forward and between their father and Celebrimbor.

"Peace," said Elrohir. "Let us argue no more."

"Have we not come to mend rifts, rather than widening them, Father?"

"Indeed, we have. But it seems that the ground upon which we may stand in agreement is very small," Elrond sighed. "Our opinions differ greatly."

"They are not opinions. You simply do not respect our wishes," Celebrimbor countered.

This time, something flashed in Elrond's eyes, and he rose from the chair where he had still been sitting, as if unconcerned. Now, though, Talion could suddenly see that this was indeed an Elf-lord. A wise, old and very powerful one.

"Do you truly not see?" he asked. "With this last ship that has anchored at the coast of Aman, there has been an influx of key personages in Tirion. There is a chance now at mending rifts, such as there has never been before. We could achieve a return to the ways of old, as they are only known to those born in the Years of the Trees like you. Finarfin may rule, for now, but it was not always so, and perhaps it should not remain so. The House of Finwë is divided, the House of Finarfin its most resplendent but still diminished fragment. But if we were to reunite it with the House of Fingolfin through the line of Turgon …"

He trailed off here, his brow pinched as if in pain.

"However, for a true unification, we would also need the House of Fëanor."

"Ah, I see how it is," Celebrimbor growled. "You are the heir of Turgon, but if you wish to rule Tirion, you need my support."

Elrond scoffed.

"Hardly. Idril and Tuor still live, for that matter, and though Turgon has not been reincarnated yet, we suspect that he may be reborn very soon. When that happens, he will of course regain stewardship of his own House. No, this is not about any individual's power. This is about reuniting the Ñoldor, as they have not been since- …"

"Since my grandfather, my father and my uncles swore their thrice cursed Oath, I know," Celebrimbor interrupted him. "So why would you want them and their kin in your vision of a peaceful and united clan?"

"Because as terrible as the deeds of the Fëanorians were, they have also achieved true greatness. More than not have even redeemed themselves." Elrond stepped forward, cautious, yet his eyes shone with a kind of understanding and empathy that shook Talion to the core. "Or do you forget that I was raised by Maedhros and Maglor for a time?"

A terrible shadow crossed Celebrimbor's face then, and he stepped back, severing the hold Talion had previously had on him.

"Do not speak to me of them," he whispered, trembling awfully. "Wait for Amrod and Amras to be reborn, if you must, but do not ask me again to take up stewardship. I will not. I am not like those you remember so fondly, I am the mirror image of my father, who himself resembled Fëanor so much they shared a name. No, I would only bring war and ruin and tragedy upon Tirion."

"Like you did Eregion?"

"Father!" cried Elladan, perhaps realizing that Elrond had overstepped – but the Elf-lord only raised a hand, watching intently as Celebrimbor shook with rage and grief. Talion was torn between the urge to console him and letting things take its natural course. Before he could decide, Celebrimbor suddenly relaxed, sighing deeply.

"Who would you have adopting the mantle of High King, then, in Finwë's absence?"

"Fingolfin is unlikely to recover from his wounds before the end, as they were dealt by Morgoth himself," Elrond said calmly. "Therefore, through him the crown should pass to Fingon, who also still remains in the Halls of Mandos. So does Turgon. We may ask Idril whether she wishes to be High Queen, but if she abdicates, the crown would pass back to Finarfin, as Fingolfin's closest relative."

"Not you, the herald of Gil-Galad? You _are_ , with some minor differences, retracing the path the crown had taken in the First and Second Age."

"We are. It seemed the most fitting. However, most former High Kings still dwell in the Halls of Mandos, and the line of succession is not clear," Elrond confirmed, and raised an eyebrow. "Unless we take into account that it was Maedhros who abdicated when the crown was passed to him after Fëanor's death- …"

"Stop right there, Peredhel," Celebrimbor growled. "I won't let you crown me King after I have refused even a Lordship."

Talion nearly choked on thin air after this.

"What?" he hissed, but thankfully it remained unheard – or at least ignored – by the others.

"Still, the crown may be what the Ñoldor need right now, bringing back unity to the clan under the banner of the House of Finwë."

"Why?" Celebrimbor asked. "Why even bother? Is Finarfin not doing that already, crown or no crown?"

"Perhaps," Elrond said, but it sounded like a 'no'. "However, many of the Ñoldor who have taken up residence in his city recently are not of the same strain of people as the ones he has ruled for the last several millennia. Those who have lived and died or survived in Middle-earth will need to be integrated into Tirion's social structures, which are little more than fossilized remains of the First Age."

Celebrimbor snorted.

"I'd like to see you call Finarfin a fossil to his face."

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" said Elrond, surprising everyone.

"Hah!" Celebrimbor barked out. "For that alone, I'll consider playing along with your scheme."

"Anything else that may convince you?"

"Certainly. Why don't you ask the Lady Indis whether she wants to be High Queen?"

Elrond blinked once, and behind him, Elrohir and Elladan gasped in unison.

"If you would offer the crown to Idril," Celebirmbor continued, as if he had not just shocked nearly everyone else in the room, "why not offer it to the one who already was Queen, at Finwë's side?"

"That is- … She is not of Finwë's bloodline."

"Then offer queenship to Findis. She is, after all, Finwë's firstborn." When Elrond said nothing for a few moments, Celebrimbor sighed. "You were considering the choices a scholar would make, retracing the choices of those before you. But if you truly wish to change things, perhaps you should look at other options."

"Wise counsel about the matter of ruling, from one who refused Lordship."

"I did lead Eregion to ruin. But before that, I ruled successfully for quite some time."

"With Erestor at your side," Elrond added, smiling wryly.

"With Erestor at my side, yes. Whenever he was not needed at Gil-Galad's side, of course."

"Perhaps we should crown Erestor King."

Talion's eyes widened in surprise when this remark caused both Elrond and Celebrimbor to break out into ringing laughter. Over Elrond's shoulder, he met the gazes of Elladan and Elrohir, who looked equally as thunderstruck as he felt.

"Oh, he would hate you for it!"

"But he would be the greatest King Tirion has ever seen."

"Perhaps, perhaps."

"And I thank you for your suggestions. When I meet Findis next, I will propose this to her," said Elrond.

"Thank Amath," Celebirmbor said, surprisingly. "It was he who changed my opinion on the power of ellith in our Houses."

"I did?" Talion blurted out.

"Yes. You made me re-evaluate the strength and keenness of my mother, do you remember? You asked me to think on it, and I did. Perhaps too little credit has been given to her, and many other wives and daughters of powerful lords and kings. Galadriel is and always was the only exception to a rule that remained unspoken for Ages. It may be time to change that."

"Indeed," Elrond muttered and hummed thoughtfully. "If change is to come to the Ñoldor people, perhaps we should look to the young ones for suggestions. They are far less set in their ways and would question things that we take for granted." Then he seemed to shake himself out of his reverie, clasping his hands in front of him. "I thank you both for this enlightening conversation. But I would not like to keep you for longer than necessary."

"Not at all," Talion said politely, though really, he was not sad to see Elrond gone. He was probably excellent company, otherwise, but really, for today he'd had enough excitement.

"We shall escort you back to Tirion, Father," offered Elladan.

"My horse will carry you," added Elrohir.

"Very well. It has been a while since we rode together."

They saw the three ellyn off from the shelter of their doorway, Elladan and Elrohir insisting to saddle their horses by themselves and making quick work of it. As they rode off through the forest, Talion wrapped his arms around Celebrimbor's waist, leaning forward to rest his chin on his shoulder.

"That could have gone worse," he muttered and smiled, when he felt Celebrimbor shake with laughter.

"It could have gone better too," he said. "He didn't bother you too much?"

"No. I think he only wanted to know more about me because he was curious. He doesn't suspect anything, after all."

"Hm. I agree, I think he came here because of me, not you."

Talion hummed and twisted a little to bury his nose in Celebrimbor's hair. Like always, it had captured some of the biting scent of wood smoke, but mostly it was just smooth and fine, tickling him a little.

"Are you really going to go along with his scheme then?" he asked after a while.

"I don't know, Talion." Celebrimbor sighed deeply and turned around within the confines of his arms to press a kiss to his lips. "There is still time to think and decide. But for now, I'd much prefer if he left me out of it. I have, after all, other concerns that are much more immediate than that."

"Oh?" Talion chuckled and kissed him back. "What kinds of concerns?"

"Hmm, let me see. I am preoccupied with this," he hummed, smoothing his lips against Talion's knuckles, warming the place where silver adorned his finger. "And I am rather distracted by this." He kissed him again, sweet and short, and then put his arm around Talion's waist, pulling him impossibly closer. Their breaths mingled, held and bursting in anticipation. "And this."

And from the negligible space between their bodies grew that tension, the kind that Talion until recently had mistaken for discomfort. It was the opposite of that. It was the warmth he had felt when dancing on Midsummer, like spices and a burst of flavor that he had missed nearly his entire life. He leaned into it, fitting the bridge of his nose against Celebrimbor's mandible, breathing in deeply to dispel the tightness in his stomach.

There was a hand on his hip, the other tangled in his hair, and he swayed with the sudden onslaught of feeling. This was somehow better and worse than everything before that, the intimacy, the uncertainty, the realization that there really was more between them. Celebrimbor guided him gently, where Talion knew not, keeping his eyes closed.

"Do you have any work to do?" he asked, hearing his own words slurred with emotion.

Celebrimbor did not need to reply. The fact that he crowded Talion and pushed and pulled harder was answer enough.

Perhaps he shouldn't ignore it anymore. This pressure inside him. He breathed again, straightening his spine so he could look into Celebrimbor's eyes.

"Come to bed," Talion whispered, and then it wasn't him being led anymore. He had his arms around Celebrimbor's waist, and he was light enough to maneuver in any way he wished to. The door to the bedroom was right there. The bed was right here. They collapsed on it, laughing a little as covers and blankets and pillows burst out from the force of their fall, scattering everywhere like leaves.

"Are you going to marry me now?" Celebrimbor asked, sounding at the same time teasing and afraid.

"I think …" Talion paused and licked his lips. "I think there are other things to do first. I don't want to scare you. I know you've never done this before."

Celebrimbor snorted indelicately and threw out his arm.

"I am not scared."

"But you're unsure. And we both don't know what you even like. We're not ready yet."

"Talion." He frowned a little, his face fracturing into pieces of expressions. There was a little exasperation, more than enough fondness, and a sort of intensity that spoke of understanding. He touched the tip of his finger to Talion's cheek, as if testing its shape. "It is different for us. Elves, we only love rarely. And we only desire when we truly love. It is different. We may not experience intimacy the way Men do, but it is instinctual that has very little to do with the body. You are incapable of hurting me, because I have chosen you. We can do nothing wrong."

Talion pressed his lips into a thin line, abstaining from worrying on them with his teeth. He'd known about this. This was not the problem.

"You've chosen me," he repeated.

"Yes, Talion."

"I'm- … Why? Am I not terribly ugly to you?"

Celebrimbor sat straight up in the bed, bolting like an arrow.

"Excuse me? Talion, why would you think something like that? And," he leaned forward, both his hands clenched tightly in the blanket beneath Talion's weight, "I could care less if you had a burnt face, no hair, no arms, no teeth, even if you weren't truly and impossibly beautiful, I would still choose you." Then, his eyes narrowed. "Do you only desire me for my appearance?"

Talion barked out a laugh.

" I think if I fell in love with anyone with a pretty face, the Undying Lands would be the wrong place to be. And not to offend you, but I wouldn't say you're the most beautiful Elf I've ever laid eyes upon either."

Celebrimbor gasped and grabbed a pillow, smacking it into Talion's face with an outcry.

"Take that back! Tell me I'm the most beautiful!"

Giggling and struggling in vain to fend off Celebrimbor's pillow attacks, Talion found himself eventually nearly falling off the bed. Still, this was better than the doubts and insecurities that had nearly crept in before. He finally managed to wrench the pillow out of Celebrimbor's hands and avenged himself by getting him into a lax restraining grip.

"See," he panted, "this is why we should wait. We need to talk about these things first."

"I know." Celebrimbor deftly broke his hold and wiggled until he was on his back, facing Talion. He was grinning. "But you said you fell in love with me."

"Did I?" Talion said, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Yes. And you are blushing. It is lovely."

"That's not- … You still haven't told me why you chose me, though."

"I will answer, but only if you detail why you decided to fall in love with me."

"It doesn't work like that, I can't just list reasons," Talion protested, and then paused. "Ah."

Celebrimbor smiled and traced his cheek again, his fingertips feathery and reverent.

"Yes." He closed his eyes, continuing to let his hands explore blindly. "We say _choose_ , but really it is all out of our hands. We love, or we don't. We match, or we don't."

Talion tilted his head, capturing the warm curve of Celebrimbor's palm against the shape of his cheekbone.

"And we match."

"Yes."

///

Talion remembered the first time he had beheld the pale glory of Tirion upon Túna, its slender spires reaching up into the sky like frost. He used to think that it resembled Minas Tirith, perhaps the way a Mearas resembled a horse. After a year, or what counted for a year in the Undying Lands, he rather thought that he viewed Tirion differently. No longer saw he his birth city's shape overlaid on top of its white curves; no longer did he think this place some otherworldly form. Tirion had lost some of its alien impression. It was no less beautiful – it was just familiar by now. He knew the corner where Cameneth had her shop. He knew the paved steps that led to Lady Idhrenil's House. He recognized the plaza and knew the way to the market. He'd been to places with Celebrimbor, and a few even on his own. Rarely, though. They rather avoided separation.

He had never been to this part of the city, however, and though no part of it was shabby, this was still very clearly a rather less noble area. At least when compared to the House of Finarfin, and the like.

Talion was not sure, but he thought he saw some anger gathering in the corners of Celebrimbor's jaw at the implication that his sister lived in relative squalor simply for not being blood related to him and his noble line. That despite this being paradise, there were still differences being made. There were still castes, for heavens' sake. And this was Tirion's underbelly, well-hidden, and no less beautiful, but it still existed.

He did not think there was anything wrong with living simply, or he would not have built a two-room house with Celebrimbor. But there was a clear distinction between crystal stairs and diamond dusted pavement and … this. The houses were still white, but they shone less because they were made with expensive material, and more because they were just clean. They were much smaller, none of them taller than two stories, narrow and clustered closely together.

The only thing that endeared Talion to this part of Tirion were the children playing out in the open. They clearly had no care in the world, were loved and provided for. It was a far way from what he remembered even places like Minas Tirith to be, where children played in dark corners, dressed in rags, rolling around in the dirt. These children – though he always misjudged the age of Elflings, these nonetheless seemed quite young – laughed without abandon, frolicking on the ground and in the decorative patches of grass with simple but sturdy toys.

A few of the adult Elves strolling about regarded the young ones with broad smiles as they went about their business. Some even stopped to play along with the children, acting as big scary monsters or carrying them on their backs like horses.

"Elflings are a great gift," Celebrimbor said next to him. Talion tore his gaze from an ellon who had five Elflings at once hanging from his arms and hip. The expression on Celebrimbor's face was one he had never seen before. It was so soft and filled with a melancholy sort of love and longing that he quickly averted his eyes again. "Elves only choose to have children during peacetime. That there are so many here is perhaps the greatest sign that we are truly safe."

Talion swallowed and watched a pair of Elflings running, squealing, towards them. Before he could react, Celebrimbor had swept forward and gathered them in his arms. Laughing, he swung them around and set them on the ground again, still screaming in delight.

"I did not think you'd be so good with children," Talion told him once they had fallen in step again.

"You forget I all but helped raise my sister." Celebrimbor turned his head and smiled at a young Elfling. The little girl waved at them and then ran off, giggling. "I knew I would never have children of my own. But I still adore them."

"Why?" Talion frowned. "You might never know. You could still have children."

"Oh, Talion. No. For one, I swore not to perpetuate my family's bloodline. And for another, we will be married soon."

Talion swallowed, watching two boys skipping along the path, singing a rhyme in Sindarin that he did not recognize.

"I was so happy when Dirhael was born," he said, his voice rough with memory. Immediately, Celebrimbor grasped his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "I loved him from the moment I laid eyes upon him. No, before that. As soon as we knew we were expecting, we were both so happy. Don't you think you are missing something, having never known the love that a parent can only have for their own child?"

"No. I don't think I am." Celebrimbor swept his free hand around, indicating the Elflings tumbling about all around them, hiding behind trees and running and playing games. "It is perhaps another difference between us and mortals. For mortals it is imperative to perpetuate one's bloodline. But there is no such pressure on us. We love children more than anything, yet we have no prerogative to produce them. It is why we wait for peacetime to have them, and why couples often are willing to wait centuries or even longer."

"Still. You're giving up any possibility of that by choosing to marry me."

"I gave that up long, long before any of your ancestors were even born, Talion." He smiled gently and let go of his hand in favor of winding an arm around Talion's waist. "Depending on one's beliefs and philosophy, one might say it was because of you. That I instinctively knew that I should wait to meet you. That I knew there would never be a chance of having children."

Talion hummed, leaning into the embrace as they walked more slowly.

"Well, in a way Dirhael would be your step-son," he chuckled.

"Oh. You are right." Celebrimbor blinked and smirked. "Do you think he would have liked me?"

Talion laughed.

"I don't know, but I think he would have driven you insane. He was a good boy. But he was a right handful. Never willing to sit still or listen to reason or rules."

He smiled at Celebrimbor's affronted expression and did not deny himself to kiss his cheek in affection. Then, as he mused about the way being so close to Celebrimbor made him feel, he realized that he had just talked about his family without feeling the overwhelming grief that used to permeate any thought of them.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes."

Talion leaned into the kiss, closing his eyes. For one suspended moment, everything was absolutely perfect. Nothing hurt. Nothing worried him. He was safe. He was with Celebrimbor.

"We're here."

"Hanar!"

Before Talion could take in the appearance of Nínimel's home, Celebrimbor had already left his side to sweep her into his arms. They both laughed freely, infectiously. He couldn't help but smile, especially when Nínimel disentangled herself from her brother to kiss Talion's cheek.

"If the two of you would hurry up so I can finally call you my brother as well," she chided them playfully, slapping Celebrimbor's shoulder, before guiding them both inside. "Come in, come in, Lossenor just came home as well and I made some tea. Would you like some as well?"

The both assented, looking curiously left and right. It was quite larger than it had seemed from the outside, or perhaps just cleverly arranged. There was a free view from the door through the sitting room and into the kitchen's seating area, and plenty of sunlight filtered inside to bathe the simple furniture in warm colors.

"It is my honor," said an ellon, rising from his chair at the table and extending his hand in greeting. He was very tall, his dark head nearly brushing the ceiling, and he had a rather prominent, aquiline nose that sat beneath a pair of almost startlingly pale grey eyes. "I am Lossenor, Nínimel's husband."

"Well met," Celebrimbor said. "I am Celebrimbor, and this is Amath."

"My wife has told me much about you. It was wonderful to see her so happy after the news that you had been reincarnated."

"And I was glad to hear that she had started her own family."

Lossenor shifted a little, smiling bashfully.

"I hope I am not too much of a disappointment. I am of no noble line. For a while I thought that surely my chances at marrying Nínimel would be inexistent."

"Oh!" came her exclamation and she arrived with a platter of teacups, a pot and a plate with biscuits. "Do tell them how we met, my dear, we have not had the opportunity to tell this story in ages."

"Ah, yes!" Lossenor laughed, and his entire demeanor changed. He had seemed rather nervous – understandably so, perhaps, at the prospect of meeting his wife's protective older brother – but at the sight of her, his tall body softened, curved, fitting her neatly against his side. "Shall we sit?"

They sat, each pouring their own tea. Talion was the only one to also grab a biscuit.

"So, how did you meet?" Celebrimbor asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It was fate," said Nínimel.

"Oh, and I thank the Valar every day. We quite literally bumped into each other."

"I was still very young, and so was Lossenor. We had both been playing, not minding our surroundings."

"Yes," he laughed. "I was flying a kite. I did not have the hand for it at all, and I tripped, squarely into Nínimel's path."

"I was running from a few playmates who were playing tag." She smiled, taking a sip of tea. "The fall hurt my wrist, and I cried."

"Which distressed me so much I started wailing as well!"

"And both of our mothers had been watching, rushing in to see what had happened."

"But by the time they arrived," Lossenor continued seamlessly, "I had calmed myself a little and was inquiring after Nínimel's health. She showed me her injured wrist."

"That was the moment we all found out that Lossenor apparently has healing abilities."

"Yes, I- … I did not know then, but I took her wrist in my hands and just … healed it." He smiled sheepishly and shrugged, looking strangely awkward.

"You are a healer?" Talion asked, awed. "That is truly amazing."

Lossenor waved away the compliment while Nínimel gushed, enumerating the many ways in which her husband truly was what Talion had said he was. How it made him special. How she would never forget the feeling of it, how even as a child she had known that he would be important to her.

"You are in the Healer's Guild."

Nínimel paused, her face falling. She stared at her brother and blinked.

"Yes, I am. I began working closely with Lord Elrond, lately. I have never met him before, but he is truly- …"

Talion started to blend out Lossenor's words. What was it with Celebrimbor and Elrond? Something was going on, and though he nudged Celebrimbor's side, trying to get his attention, he would not explain himself. Poor Lossenor. He had no idea. Talion only saw one way out of this.

"I thought I might apply to the Healer's Guild myself," he interrupted. All eyes came to rest on him.

"You … do?" Celebrimbor asked quietly.

"Yes. Lord Elrond offered it. As you know, I am quite knowledgeable in herbology."

"Oh, indeed? We could always use- …"

Talion met Celebrimbor's seeking gaze, continuing to ignore Lossenor. It really was not fair to him; the healer was truly sweet. Clearly madly in love with Nínimel. But this was about something else.

"In fact," Talion continued, "I might drop by today. If we're in Tirion for once, why not make use of the opportunity?"

Celebrimbor's eye twitched.

"You shouldn't go there by yourself," he ground out between gritted teeth.

"No, I shouldn't. Perhaps Lossenor would be kind enough to show me around. You and your sister could catch up in the meantime."

There was true conflict visible on Celebrimbor's face then. He clearly wanted time to talk to his sister and this is what they had come for even though he feared it would bore Talion to hear remembrances of Nínimel's childhood shenanigans. It was important to him. But he also prioritized Talion and keeping each other company. Not being separated.

Talion also did not like being apart from Celebrimbor, but he was not afraid to this time. It was just Elrond. And Celebrimbor was with his sister. It would be fine.

"Excuse us for a moment," Celebrimbor said and took Talion's hand.

Outside, the children were still playing, running around after each other. It was quite enough noise to drown out their conversation to anyone who might try to listen in.

"Why do you want to see Lord Elrond? And without me, no less," Celebrimbor went straight to the point.

"Because if the two of you are in the same room it inevitably leads to one insulting the other, which leads to arguments. And I don't want to argue with him." Talion leaned over to kiss Celebrimbor's cheek. "This is really nothing more than that. I wish to speak with him about perhaps being of some use. You know I hate being cooped up. You know I don't begrudge you your workshop. But I need things to do too. If it's just gathering herbs they may need, then I'm happy with that."

Celebrimbor looked disgruntled but nodded anyways.

"Alright. I'm sure Lossenor would escort you to the guild house."

Talion grinned and kissed his cheek again.

"Thank you. And have fun talking to your sister."

"I will."

They returned back inside and Talion asked Lossenor whether he would be willing to show him the Healer's Guild while Celebrimbor would stay with his sister and reminisce and catch up. The older ellon happily agreed to help, smiling broadly as he parted from his wife and offered polite words to his brother-in-law.

"Is it far?" Talion asked as soon as left the house.

"Oh, not at all! The Healer's Guild is on one of the lowest levels, since it should be accessible to all. It is still well defended, strategically placed from dire days in the Years of the Trees – or so I am told."

Lossenor led Talion through the streets, chatting animatedly about the Guild and its purpose. He had wondered about that. Since Elves did not get sick, what did they need healers for? Mostly, apparently, for childbirth. Though Elves were hardy and only had children during peacetime, it was still a delicate process that required a lot of supervision and guidance from experienced elders. It was also a place for Elves who were either not married or didn't have children themselves to help with the care of the newborn Elflings.

"It is wonderful to see some of the oldest Elves just melt and soften when they hold a newborn in their arms," Lossenor said, and Talion thought perhaps Celebrimbor might benefit from a visit to the nursery himself in the future.

The Guild also took care of other ailments, that were not necessarily of the body. Especially in recent years – decades and centuries, since the re-emerging Evil in Middle-earth – as more and more Elves fled to Aman or were slain in battle, either the newly arrived or reincarnated were in need of a place to rest and recover. Some how had dwelt in the Halls of Mandos needed time to readjust. Some who were newly sailed had done so because they were severely damaged, drained or wounded, and only the restorative properties of the Undying Lands could save them from fading. The Guild was responsible for their recovery, and Talion was impressed to hear of this.

"We are very glad to have received Lord Elrond in our Guild especially for this purpose," Lossenor elaborated. "He is especially gifted at the healing arts pertaining to the purging of the influence of Evil on fëar. However, I still remember when his wife Celebían arrived on these shores, deeply damaged by something that had happened to her. Even his skills were not enough to save her in Middle-earth, so she sailed here. I was not part of the team that cared for her, but I met her many times. Her recovery is one of the most exceptional that I was fortunate enough to witness, and their reunion even more so."

Talion was afraid to ask too much about the healing of fëar, afraid of exposing himself as a non-Elf. Should he know these things instinctively? Or were only healers instructed in these matters? He was infinitely curious about what made Aman so different from Middle-earth – why it enhanced the healing of the spirit so, or perhaps why it strengthened the innate magic of Elves thus.

But once they arrived at the Guild halls, Talion understood. As soon as they stepped through the simple, unassuming gates, he felt a sense of utter peace wash over him.

"I see you feel it too," Lossenor whispered with a smile. "You would make a great healer."

He opened his eyes – when had he closed them? – to the sight of a large dome arching over a branching network of open rooms. The ceiling seemed translucent, letting in the light nearly unfiltered. Light was important to Elves, Talion knew, and the design of the halls reflected clearly that it was a central element to the healing process.

Lossenor showed him around some of the sections of the halls. Some were not open to the public, though most were. He began with a series of interconnected segments that were artfully separated by screens, where Elves were resting for a variety of reasons. Some were simply here to enjoy their sleep – Reverie, Lossenor called it – among company, with the background chatter of other Elves. A few ellith rested here as well, recovering from the births of their children. One of them was all but swarmed with well-wishers and even well-meaning bystanders because she had the babe with her. Talion only caught a glimpse, but he, too, stopped and waited for another chance to catch sight of the tiny little Elfling cradled in her arms.

"They truly are enchanting, aren't they?" Lossenor chuckled, his eyes glazed over. "It never goes away. Seeing children is magical."

Talion wished Celebrimbor was with him now. He could have told him about the instant, overwhelming love he had felt when he first laid eyes on his newly born son. But he wasn't, and Talion regretted for the first time to have left him behind. So far, the experience had been eye-opening. But he couldn't tell Lossenor. And not being able to share this fully hurt him more than he would ever have imagined. Confessing to having been a father would complicate everything, possibly expose him. His position was precarious enough. So, he swallowed the joyful memory and urged Lossenor to show him around some more.

Next, they visited a room where rows of beds were lined up, the Elves lying in them in clearly worse condition than the ones beforehand. Most of them were in deep sleep – Reverie, Talion corrected himself – being so quiet and still that it once more reminded him of the dead. It was only in contrast to before that he realized the rooms earlier had been woven through with the underlying sounds of singing and speaking, respectfully muted, yet there and comforting.

Here, there was only the rustle of their own clothes as they moved from row to row. Lossenor stopped by the beds of a few patients. He was not on duty, yet a healer never rested if he saw an opportunity to help. There was not much to do, but he tucked a few in more comfortably, refilled glasses of water and checked some things with quick, inquisitive touches of his fingers.

 Another healer was there as well, nodding at Lossenor in passing, before she went to a bed where an ellon lay with a few injuries. Perhaps work-related. She changed his bandages and muttered a few comforting words, and Talion moved on.

The next section was where medicine was prepared. This interested Talion very much, and he was quickly able to forget about his earlier dismay and the muted gloom of the previous room. The Eldar working there were happy enough to show Talion what they were doing, gladly showing him even a new application for linseed flax and yarrow that he had not known of before.

He was in the process of discussing proper pestle technique with an ellon who introduced himself as Eiliandir when a surge of activity went through the room. It was like when the teacher entered a room full of students – suddenly everyone busied themselves.

"Amath, what a surprise."

He turned around to face Lord Elrond, who stood before him with a pleasant expression on his face and his hands crossed before him.

"Not at all," Talion retorted kindly. "You did suggest I should visit the Healer's Guild sometime, and Lossenor was kind enough to show me around. Did you know, he is the husband of Celebrimbor's little sister? Tirion is so small sometimes."

"Indeed?" Elrond raised an eyebrow and looked at Lossenor. "I did not know your family was so prestigious as to marry into the House of Fëanor."

"Oh no," Talion interrupted before Lossenor could say anything. "Nínimel is not Celebrimbor's blood sister. His mother took her in after a tragedy, and they are very close."

"I see. And how do you find the Guild halls, Amath?"

"I am very much impressed, my lord, and it would be an honor to contribute to the efforts here. For example, I have seen that your stocks of valerian are low. Valerian grows abundantly near where we live – I would be happy to supply you."

"We always have need of valerian," Eiliandir interrupted, eager. "We could also use hawthorn, evening primrose, Klamath weed if you can find it, and lady's mantle."

Talion smiled.

"If that pleases my lord, I can gladly supply these."

"Of course. If Eiliandir says we have urgent need of these things, we would be happy to accept your help. Perhaps Lossenor may tell you more about how such a thing may be accomplished." Lord Elrond raised a hand. "However, I wish to speak with you privately first, for a moment. If we may be excused?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Of course, Lord Elrond."

Talion quietly followed Elrond into an adjacent area that was a little more closed off, perhaps a place for the healers to sit and rest for a moment. He gestured for Talion to sit, so he did.

"I am happy to see you take such an interest in the healing arts," Elrond began, "but this is not why I wished to speak with you."

"Is this about the topic of your visit?"

"Yes. And no."

Talion raised his eyebrows.

"Well, I can only say that Celebrimbor has not spoken about your plans to reunite the ruling families of Tirion to me. Perhaps he has thought about it more, but I can honestly not say."

"That is fine. We have time to decide and set these plans in motion. No, that is not what I wished to talk to you about. It is an opportunity to catch you without your betrothed nearby," Elrond chuckled.

"You are attempting to get to know me again," Talion hazarded a guess.

"In a way, yes. It is curious, and you must excuse my interest, but I believe there has never before been a union like this among the ruling class. Not between one so renowned and of noble breeding and one so mysterious, without the connection of a House at all. Not to speak of the fact that you are both male. It is not that uncommon, especially here in Aman, but it is … noteworthy."

"I suppose," Talion said, "that one can never know where or when to find love."

"Certainly, I agree. I, myself, am proof that love is remarkable. The tale of Beren and Lúthien is legendary, so is the story of Idril and Tuor, my grandparents. There would be no half-Elven without their courage and exceptional clarity to see love where others would never even try to see it."

"Indeed," Talion said, frowning a little. He did not see where Elrond was going with this.

"In fact," Elrond continued, "I was wondering whether Celebrimbor will follow the path of Lúthien, or that of Idril."

Talin's frown intensified.

"I'm afraid I do not follow."

"Oh, Amath." Elrond laughed a little, leaning back in his chair. It was not a malicious laugh, but it still sent shivers up Talion's spine. "I know that is not your real name. And you may have been fooling the other Eldar left and right. But I am Peredhel. I know a Man when I see one."

The shivers turned to ice. Talion's breath froze in his lungs, and he gripped the arms of his chair as if in a desperate attempt to halt time.

He knew. He'd known this entire time. Talion had feared that Elrond had discovered his secret already back during Midsummer, but his previous visit seemed to have dispelled that notion.

Now it seemed that he had been right to fear the Elf-lord all along.

Talion swallowed and raised his chin, staring defiantly.

"You have kept this a secret, or you would not have drawn me away to speak in private. Or are there guards waiting outside to snatch me away? What is it you plan to do? You can't expect me to be led to my death quietly. I will resist. And Celebrimbor will hear of this," he growled, summoning all his courage to not show the true fear that had gripped his heart.

But Elrond looked confused.

"Guards? To your death? What in the name of the Valar are you speaking of?"

"You're not- … I am a trespasser. I had thought- …" Talion swallowed again, and subtly looked around. He tried to remember the way he had taken here. Where was the exit? He didn't want to disturb the others, but perhaps there was a way around the sections were Elves were resting …

"Amath," Elrond interrupted his thoughts, alarmed. "Calm yourself. I had not intended to frighten you. There are no guards. I have told no one. What is it you meant with 'trespassing'? And why would you think that you were to be taken to your death? You are not the only mortal now dwelling in Aman, though I had not heard of your arrival. I merely wished to inquire more about you. I expect that it is a remarkable tale that has led you here. And I would offer my assistance, should you wish it, whether you remain in hiding or not."

"I- … I see." Talion did not see. He was still tightly strung, ready to bolt at any moment. It couldn't be. Elrond should be affronted at the notion that a mortal had unrightfully gained access to the Blessed Realm.

"First of all, would you be inclined to tell me your true name?" Elrond asked, almost excessively gently.

He hesitated for a moment. But then he realized, if Elrond truly wished him harm, there was no point in lying anymore.

"Talion," he said then. "My name is Talion."

"Talion," Elrond repeated with a smile. "A strong, honorable name. Gondorian?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"And your story? Do not worry, we cannot be overheard in here. There are spells in place to ensure privacy."

Talion looked around again, eyeing suspiciously the screens separating them from the other sections of the Healer's Guild hall.

"I cannot tell you all of it," he began after a pause. "Much of it is intertwined with Celebrimbor's own story, and I would not reveal it without his consent."

"Of course."

"But yes. I am a Man. And I was born in Gondor. In Minas Tirith, to be exact." He took a deep breath and started: "It began in the Third Age, nearly a century before the War of the Ring and the day that marked the Dark Lord's defeat. That day, the Black Gate fell, and the Black Hand of Sauron killed my wife and son. Then, he killed me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Translations:_  
>  Mae govannen - (S.) well met (greeting)  
> Ellith/Ellyn - (S.) plural of female/male Elves  
> Peredhel - (S.) Half-Elven  
> Hanar - (S.) brother  
> Fëar - (Q.) plural of fëa, the soul/spirit


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god you guys this is it. I know I am incredibly late, and I am so sorry for that. It's also a little short, and this is mainly why I struggled so hard with posting this. But I think ... I'd rather give you something a bit shorter that rings true, rather than something longer that may be unnecessarily bloated and diluted to fit some standard that I have in my head that is meaningless.
> 
> So. To the end of this journey. Thank you all for accompanying it and giving me the strength and courage. Please excuse the bad smut.
> 
> Enjoy!

Celebrimbor knew immediately that something was wrong, of course. Talion had thought he made an effort to seem as normal as possible, receiving him with a smile and a kiss to the cheek. But Celebrimbor gripped his shoulders with stiff fingers and searched his face, his eyes hurried and troubled.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"Lord Elrond spoke with Amath for a while in private," Lossenor interjected. Talion threw him a dirty look, and the ellon shrank under the force of it.

Celebrimbor frowned thunderously, snarling.

"I knew this was a mistake – I should not have let you go on your own."

"Oh, come on now, brother," Nínimel snorted. "You are being overprotective as always. Let poor Amath breathe a little, you are smothering him. He can take care of himself."

"What did he say to you?" Celebrimbor asked, ignoring his sister.

Talion hesitated. On the one hand this was not really a topic to be discussed in front of others. But this was family. Nínimel was Celebrimbor's sister, and Lossenor her husband. Both of them were good people, loyal and dependable.

"Perhaps we should tell them."

Celebrimbor's eyes widened.

"No," he exclaimed. And then: "Are you sure? Do you not wish to wait?"

"Maybe. But Elrond knows. He knew all along. Would it not be better to have others know as well?" Talion eyed Nínimel and Lossenor, both watching them with astonishment and confusion. "They might be able to help, either way. We don't have to be alone anymore."

Celebrimbor, his arms still loosely wrapped around Talion's waist, turned half away, his face inscrutable in a way that Talion had only rarely seen before. His downturned mouth looked stiff and unyielding, and there was a faraway look in his eyes. Talion wanted to reach out and touch, perhaps to card his fingers through the thick and luscious hair that he liked so much. He didn't. Instead, he waited, trying to school himself and find some semblance of the patience that Elves had to ignore the passage of time.

"We will come back another time," Celebrimbor said finally, breaking the silence so forcefully that Talion thought he heard a crack.

"But- …"

"We will come back," he repeated, more gently. When his face turned back, Talion saw with some relief that he was smiling. Just a little. "We will tell them everything. You are right, it was inevitable. First, though, I wish to remain a little selfish, just for a while longer."

"Selfish?" Talion asked.

"Yes."

This time, when Celebrimbor leaned in to kiss him, it was different. There was no quantifiable change really, except for the way it made him feel. Their kisses, though not necessarily innocent either, had never conveyed this kind of heat and want before. It left Talion tingling and self-conscious of his breathing, hands clenching and unclenching at Celebrimbor's hips where he had instinctively sought purchase.

"Oh," he said, eloquently.

He heard Celebrimbor speaking to his sister, asking her whether she would be amenable for another visit another day. All the while Talion barely listened, his mind swirling with thoughts of a different nature.

Did Celebrimbor wish to marry? Today?

"Let us go home now, meldanya."

Their return back to their home went past Talion's consciousness like a single breath. It seemed to him that he had just said goodbye to Nínimel and Lossenor, when they stood hand in hand in the forest, sharing a look that pierced deeper than a physical wound.

"Are you nervous?" Talion asked.

Celebrimbor shook his head, smiling a little.

"No. But you are."

Talion opened his mouth to protest, wanting to say that he was certainly not anxious about anything. After all, he shouldn't be, having done this before with Ioreth. He'd been married before, had made love to someone he cherished before. Yet he looked at their joined hands, realizing that Celebrimbor had his held steadily, keeping the tremors shaking through him from showing.

"Why aren't you nervous?" he amended his question. "I thought I was meant to be the experienced one here."

"I am not worried because I have faith."

"Faith?"

"Yes." Celebrimbor raised his free hand, touching Talion's cheek gently. "I know that I love you. I know that you love me. And by dawn, we will be one. Not even the Valar will be able to separate us then. I know all this, which leaves no room for fear."

Talion huffed a laugh, leaning into Celebrimbor's touch.

"I will have to rely on your bravery, then."

They stepped across the threshold together, still hand in hand. Talion didn't know whether Celebrimbor knew about this tradition that Men had, of the man carrying his bride inside in his arms. He'd done it with Ioreth. He wondered what it meant neither of them did it now, and then he stopped wondering.

Instead, he started marveling.

They stood facing each other in the dimly lit bedroom, the light of the sun fading fast with the approach of night. Whenever Talion faltered in his movements as he undressed, Celebrimbor came forward to warm him with a touch, a kiss, a murmured word of love and encouragement. His heart swelled in his breast where it thundered, as if yearning to reach out and leap at the one who held it so firmly. Soon enough they had both shed their clothes, and just as no layers were left between them, there was no more room for doubt.

Their first kiss was soft and yielding. A mere sigh, breath shared. A promise of what was to come: the sharing of body and soul.

Once again, Talion was nearly overcome by the moment. He watched as his fingers parted the strands of Celebrimbor's hair, cool and sleek and luscious. He fit his mouth to the curve of his beloved's cheek, marveling at the faint caress of eyelashes against his own skin. Celebrimbor was warm and solid in his arms, his skin soft and velvety under his rough palms and lips.

By silent accord, they first knelt on the bed and then slowly, still entangled, laid down on their sides facing each other. Neither of them let up their gentle but heated explorations.

"Am I hurting you?" Talion whispered, when he felt a sharp gasp being muffled against his shoulder.

"Talion," came Celebrimbor's almost annoyed retort, "I could light my forge and jump inside, and it wouldn't hurt me."

"Yes, but- …"

"You _cannot_ hurt me."

Uncertain, Talion let Celebrimbor tighten his embrace and tangle their legs as he shifted both of their weights until Talion was laid out securely on top of him. It was a strange position to be in, looking down on Celebrimbor like that, and he worried about crushing him with his weight so he pushed himself up – or he would have, if not for the hands that kept him in place.

"Talion. You cannot hurt me. You are incapable of hurting me."

"I might not intentionally, but what about unintentionally?"

Celebrimbor shook his head and shifted a little. The movement was miniscule, but it brought them together just that tiny bit closer.

"You cannot hurt me, because I trust you. My body knows my love and accepts you. That is what it means to be one – what you do to me we share. Nothing is foreign. Nothing is unexpected. Everything we do, we do together."

Talion's breath caught in his throat. He could only drink in the sight of Celebrimbor, smiling serenely up at him as he let Talion stroke his cheek and trace the shape of his lips. He was beautiful. Serene. Truly otherworldly. Talion could not measure up to his worth – yet at the same time he knew he loved him enough and was loved enough in return that it didn't matter.

"Now you understand," Celebrimbor whispered, and as his eyes softened from their usual icy sharpness into a color too fathomless to describe, he breathed a gentle kiss against Talion's palm. "Come. Marry me."

Their lips met in a deep kiss as Talion strove to feel as much of his beloved as he could at once. He kept them chest to chest while their legs first tangled, creating nearly unbearably pleasurable friction, and then Celebrimbor parted his thighs to welcome him in the warm cradle of his hips.

"Melitse."

It felt like a dream. Or a little like he was drunk, or perhaps like that time he and Hirgon smoked some of that strong pipeweed and it made them all lax and full of laughter. He felt like he was floating, and only the strength of Celebrimbor's grip on him could keep him grounded. Celebrimbor was the only real thing left in this world. Talion's heart was full as he kissed him again and again, bracing the both of them for what was to come, trying to say all the things he had no words for. His gratefulness. His love. His desire.

It was only when both of their voices joined in sudden, stunned silence that Talion recognized what it felt like. It wasn't dreaming. It was like running.

There was a chilled presence tangling along his bones and nerves, mixing in with the pleasure that urged him to move, touch, taste, kiss. He had felt this before. Running in Mordor. Celebrimbor not beside him, not underneath him, but inside him, the brimming sort of cold ready to overflow, to make him faster, stronger, to make him better.

"Is that- …" He gasped, halting in his movements only until Celebrimbor's shameless writhing prompted him again. "Is that you? I'm feeling- …"

"Yes. Arimelda, yes. I feel you too." Celebrimbor laughed then, a clear, ringing sound of pure joy. "You are so beautiful."

Celebrimbor pressed his palm to Talion's chest, over his heart, and a sensation so strong ran along his spine that he lost all sense of awareness for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, he gasped. The electrifying chill was gone, replaced by a buzzing warmth that sparked and bloomed everywhere they touched. It lay waiting, though, and Talion could see a familiar kind of desperate tension in the lines of Celebrimbor's body that made him lean forward and drink the hurried gasps and cries from his beloved's lips directly.

"That's our souls," Talion hazarded to whisper, wondering distantly at the clarity of his mind. "Now all that remains are our bodies."

It was as if the tables had turned. Celebrimbor had been coherent and confident in the beginning, steady enough to reassure Talion's uncertainty. Now, in the throes of passion, he seemed to have lost that, while Talion had regained his assuredness. He knew nothing of joining souls. But he knew this kind of pleasure of the flesh.

Celebrimbor accepted everything he offered him with an ease that astonished Talion. Every shudder, every gasp was pure and genuine, every reaction soft and pleading for more. He did not flinch when Talion hungrily traced the length of his neck with his tongue. He did not shy away when he teethed at the protruding shape of his collarbone. He keened and squirmed when Talion teased his ear. His breath came faster and faster, and never before had Talion heard him so out of breath. It filled him with a strange sort of pride.

This was the first time in his very long life that Celebrimbor felt such joy and passion. His moans and gasps were for Talion's ears only – now and forever. He could give him this. He could give him everything he had. And it was accepted. Cherished. Loved.

Being with Celebrimbor was like running. Eventually they had to reach a destination. The warmth that had nestled in his bones grew and grew until he could contain it no longer. It crested like a wave, pulling Talion helplessly along. Only when it was over did he regain an awareness of his surroundings.

Celebrimbor lay still and quietly next to him, eyes closed. All of a sudden, Talion felt this was too much distance, and he gathered his beloved in his arms, pressing kisses along his shoulder, neck and cheek as he went.

"Love?" he whispered tentatively. "Did you fall asleep?"

There was a quick brush of breath against Talion's neck.

"No, arimelda. I am just- … I can still feel you." A hand trailed down Talion's back, tracing idle patterns. The breath turned to laughter. "You are with me now. Always. Inseparable. Do you feel it too?"

Talion closed his eyes in concentration, trying to search for the feeling. Then he gasped.

"Oh! Is that … Is it going to stay like this? Will I always- …?" He struggled to find the words to express the fullness of his heart, the weight of it beneath his breastbone, and at the same time the lightness of his breath. He felt heavy, and weightless simultaneously.

"Husband."

He stilled, going almost a little cross-eyed as he tried to look at Celebrimbor, who had tucked his face into Talion's neck.

"Oh," he said again, full of wonder. As he breathed, he filled his lungs with the faint wood smoke smell of Celebrimbor's hair. He was all around him. Right next to him. With him, always. Here.

"I am quite tempted to suggest we never leave this house again. That we never leave this bed, in fact," Celebrimbor said, his voice slurred and muffled against Talion's skin.

"I am tempted to agree to such a suggestion," Talion admitted. "This … is nice."

Celebrimbor chuckled and lifted his head a little, pillowing it on his own arm so he could peer at Talion.

"Nice? I had hoped for a little more than that, my dear."

"Alright. It's wonderful. I would very much like to just lock the door and never let the world back inside again." He pursed his lips. "Can we?"

The look on Celebrimbor's face was more contemplative than Talion had thought it would be. He let him trace the shape of his mouth, his nose and cheeks with a very careful finger, waiting for his reply. He'd learned patience. Celebrimbor deserved Talion's time, even spent waiting.

"There is always a way," Celebrimbor said finally, his thumb resting idly on the corner of Talion's mouth. "If we wished, we could find some corner of these lands where nobody has ever stepped foot. Somewhere quiet and peaceful. Build another house. Live off the land. Spend our time together however we wish to, because we do not owe anyone anything anymore."

"But?"

"No but, Talion. It is a choice we can make."

"What about your sister? Your mother?"

"They would understand. Eventually." He shrugged. "You told me about the Fate of Men. This is the only thing the Eldar have. Who is to tell me how to spend this measure of eternity in the Blessed Realm? If I want to leave it all, with you, no one will stop me. No one would stop us. The only thing holding us back is ourselves."

Talion searched Celebrimbor's face, thinking.

"Would you want to? Go away. Leave everything."

Celebrimbor blinked a few times.

"I think- … I think that I would rather choose this path willingly than be forced into needing to choose it."

"I- … I don't understand."

The hand still resting on Talion's cheek moved a little, shifting to cradle the back of his neck. It exerted no pressure, but he still let himself tilt forward, until their foreheads touched.

"We could leave, like you said. We might regret some things, in the long term. It would be a harder life than perhaps necessary. But I would rather live in loneliness with you than here, in fear of losing you, even for a moment."

"You still think that I am in danger?"

Celebrimbor sighed.

"Elrond knows who you are now. I do not doubt he has the best intentions. But he is accustomed to making hard choices that benefit the majority over the few. For some reason he wants me to help him assist in unifying the clan. If he believes that you are a threat to that? He will try to separate us."

With a loud sigh, Talion let himself fall back onto the pillows, feeling drained.

"When I spoke to him, he just genuinely seemed … interested. He wanted to know more about me."

"He is a scholar, of course he is curious in nature. He means no harm. He is not malicious. Yet still he can make decisions that will ultimately hurt you." Celebrimbor snorted, a surprisingly inelegant sound. "He always thinks he knows best. No wonder he and Galadriel get along so well."

"I thought you didn't know him well."

Celebrimbor shifted as well, lying on his stomach now with his chin propped on one hand. He frowned a little. Talion did not like that, and reached out to smooth his brow, earning him a quiet chuckle.

"I don't. Not personally. But I know the type."

"And what type is that?"

"The bookish, brooding type."

Talion laughed, until he saw the frown had returned to Celebrimbor's brow.

"What?"

"Did you tell him about the Fate of Men?" he asked distantly, clearly thinking at the same time.

"No. Well, I told him that I had died at the end of the War of the Ring. And that I was recalled from the Fate of Men, which brought me to the Undying Lands."

"Hm."

"What is it?"

"Perhaps you should tell him. Wait. Or perhaps not. I- … I will need to think about that."

"Well." Talion yawned. "Whatever you decide, perhaps we can stop talking about other men while we are in bed."

Celebrimbor startled visibly.

"Oh. Are you tired?"

"A little. But it's not that late. I can stay awake a little bit longer." Talion yawned again.

"Hm."

When Celebrimbor merely looked around searchingly, groping for the blanket to draw it over the both of them, it startled a laugh from Talion.

"What, are you going to sleep too?"

"No."

"You are going to watch me sleep?"

"What else is there to do?"

Talion chuckled, laying there quietly and contently as he waited for Celebrimbor to settle properly. At first, he was next to him on his stomach, then on his back. Then he plastered himself against Talion's side, one arm stretched across his chest.

"Are you done?"

"Now I am. Yes."

"Alright. I really am not too tired though," Talion said. "Tell me about your visit with your sister. How has she been?"

"Oh. I suppose I forgot about that. Do you really want to know?"

Talion raised an eyebrow.

"Of course I do."

Celebrimbor smiled, the gesture hidden from view, but Talion felt it, nonetheless. Then, he began to speak.

///

Talion woke, for the second time in his lifetime, a married man. As he slowly became aware of his surroundings, taking stock of the small aches and pains his body had accumulated and finding them rather insignificant, he also noted a distinct lack of warmth and weight next to him. Of course, Celebrimbor did not need to sleep. He must have gotten up to run errands sometime during the night after Talion had drifted off. Did he fall asleep while Celebrimbor was telling him about his reunion with his sister? He would have to rectify that later and ask for the rest of the story.

As he was stretching with an indulgent yawn, Celebrimbor stepped into the doorway of the bedroom, looking strangely evasive.

"Good morning," Talion said first, watching with some amusement how Celebrimbor fidgeted and cleared his voice before replying in kind. "What's for breakfast?"

"Not much. I made some bread, and we have honey and fresh jam if you like." Celebrimbor's eyes met his for a moment and then skittered away. "I thought- … I mean if you- … We could- …" He groaned and tilted sideways, resting his forehead forcefully against the doorframe. "I am being silly. Why am I acting like a foolish Elfling all of a sudden?"

Talion laughed and held out his arms.

"Come here, you silly Elfling."

It was a pleasant surprise that Celebrimbor did not hesitate at all to jump on top of him and burrow his face into Talion's stomach.

"So," Talion said and patted his head. "What is it you were saying?"

"Mmh. I wanted to ask you whether you might like going to Tirion for lunch?"

"Oh? Is this an assignation? Are you asking for permission to flaunt me in front of the entirety of Tirion?"

Talion laughed ruthlessly, watching as Celebrimbor squirmed a little.

"Maybe. Yes. I want to- …" He paused, stilling. When he did not continue for a while longer, Talion went back to stroking his hair contently. "I want everyone to know that you are with me. That I belong to you and you belong to me."

"Alright."

"Really? You have no objections? We will certainly get recognized, and people will approach us to- …" He cleared his throat. "To congratulate us on our marriage."

"Strangers too?"

"Oh yes. Marriages do not happen very often, just like the birth of children. It is an occasion for celebration for everyone."

"Alright," Talion repeated, the rhythm with which he was combing his fingers through Celebrimbor's hair not faltering. Before he could truly mess up the maroon tresses, however, Celebrimbor got up to prepare and then bring Talion his breakfast.

They spent the rest of the morning lazing around in bed, getting crumbs and sticky honey fingers everywhere. Neither of them minded, more than willing to sacrifice a bit of cleanliness for each other's company.

Eventually, Talion did have to get dressed, and Celebrimbor selected one of the heavier, more formal sets of robes for him.

"We will get stared at, and I want you to look your best."

"So you really _are_ parading me to the society of Tirion," Talion laughed, but let himself be trussed up without complaint. Celebrimbor even braided some bits of his hair and twisted some holly berries into it, not refuting Talion's words at all.

There was a strange sort of joy in knowing Celebrimbor was not only happy about them finally having finalized their bond, but that he was proud, too. It as one thing to enjoy their newly minted soul connection. It was something completely different to see that Celebrimbor wanted others to see, wanted to announce to everyone that it was Talion who he had chosen as his partner. It spoke of complete devotion, and of a sort of confidence that Talion had to admire. If they were to encounter any obstacle, he now saw the conviction burning in Celebrimbor's eyes, and he knew that nothing would dare stand in his way.

"We're really going to be together from now on," he whispered.

Perhaps it helped to think of this as a battle. He was a warrior after all. But if there was a battle to be fought, his warrior's heart had no space left for fear.

"Of course." Celebrimbor tilted his head, watching Talion curiously. He saw the endearing gesture and reached out with his hand to smooth his thumb over the Elf's curved cheek, brushing against his ear. Then he reached up to his own, brushing his hair behind the rounded shell.

"Talion?"

"I'm not afraid anymore, Celebrimbor. You're here with me." Talion laughed and caught Celebrimbor's hand, as it came forward to hide his round, Mannish ears again. "Let them see. Let them know. If we encounter trouble because of it, we will fight it. Or we will do as you said and just leave, to some place where nobody will trouble us again. I don't care either way. Because we are together now, aren't we?"

"Of course we are."

They were together now. And together they went to Tirion first. Everything else could wait.

///

Since the first time Talion had experienced Tirion, a truly Elven city, for the first time in his long, strange life, it had changed a lot. He supposed it depended on his own perspective. He used to be anxious about being recognized as a Man in disguise, somebody who did not belong, who was only pretending. He used to be unfamiliar with certain slang, deafened by words drumming against his ears in dialects that he could not comprehend. Now that he had lived in the Undying Lands for a while, and thanks to Celebrimbor his language lessons had progressed quite nicely, Tirion rather … felt a lot like home.

No, not home. Home was still the cramped little hut in the forest that he shared with Celebrimbor. Home was still anywhere he could be and rest with his husband.

His husband.

He grinned, squeezing Celebrimbor's hand, garnering him a confused, if fond look from the Elf. But he was just so happy. There was no reason to fear anymore. They had acknowledged and affirmed the feelings that had been growing between them for a very long time. The last and greatest fear of any living being had been banished, because they were no longer alone. They were both loved. By each other. It was the greatest joy, and Talion knew that he was more than fortunate to be able to experience it.

Their journey had been long and arduous. They had both suffered more injustice, pain and loss than they should have. But they found each other, here at the end of all things. At the beginning of something new.

"Are you well?" Celebrimbor asked gently, threading his fingers through Talion's hair. Neither of them cared that the gesture revealed his rounded, Mannish ears.

"I am very well," Talion replied, leaning into Celebrimbor's impossibly warm palm the way a cat might. "I am perfect."

Celebrimbor chuckled.

"You are perfect indeed."

Tirion was different now. But maybe that was so because Talion was different, too.

They had told Celebrimbor's family – his sister at least, his mother and aunts and grandmother could wait a while longer – and Talion had told Elrond. Sooner or later more or less everyone was going to know that a Man was living in their midst. They were going to have to tell their friends before that happened or they might be insulted, Talion mused. It was good to have so many people to think of, though. It proved that they had truly settled into life here, instead of merely surviving on the edges of civilization. On top of a house and a livelihood, they also had friends and family who cared about them, passing acquaintances and friendly, though nameless faces, places they liked to frequent, a rhythm of life that they had not had before.

As lovely as the city was, even to his unrefined human eyes, Tirion only mattered insofar as it was a location where all of Talion's favorite people were congregated. Specifically, of course, Celebrimbor.

His husband – he would never tire of the thought, just as he bittersweetly remembered never tiring of it with Ioreth as his wife – kept glancing at him in bemusement from the side, even as Talion was aware of the foolish little smile on his own face. He was just too happy to tear his eyes away or to hide his joy, though.

"I love you," he said, grinning wider when Celebrimbor's eyes flicked away, freezing for a moment, before a faint hint of a blush crept across his cheeks.

"I love you as well," came the mumbled reply. Shy, almost. Talion's cheeks hurt from trying to smile even harder.

They moved through the winding streets of Tirion, communicating without speaking and walking as a completed unit. Without a word exchanged between them, they chose seats at a table belonging to a bustling inn, ordering a few drinks.

"Isn't this where you experimented on me a while ago?" Talion laughed, thanking the waiter when he brought them their beverages. Ale for Talion, and some glittering, pale wine for Celebrimbor.

Talion interlinked their hands, admiring when the light caught on their rings for a moment. As he walked away, Talion thought he saw their waiter stumble, but it must have been his imagination. The Eldar were too graceful to do anything as embarrassing as stumbling over their own feet.

"I was not experimenting," Celebrimbor insisted haughtily. "The scientific nature of the endeavor you are referring to was a mere byproduct of the situation."

"Ah, that's how it is."

Celebrimbor huffed fondly. Just as he opened his mouth to retort, however, a voice caught both of their attention.

The voice was neither exceptionally loud, nor did it say anything really attention catching. It had not said their names or anything related to either of them. It was only something about its quality that made them perk up and look around for its source. Something about this voice- …

Talion's gaze swept over the crowd. It was a nice day out – really, every day was nice in the Undying Lands, but today seemed to have truly attracted many people to go out and enjoy their time outside, which mean that the plaza was especially packed. Finding anyone in this hustle and bustle, even knowing who it was you were looking for, would be near impossible. He was just about to give up, or rather, to put his trust in Celebrimbor's sharper eyes, when a certain sight caught his eye.

At first, he thought it was a bunch of Elflings walking past. And though the sight was unusual enough, that was not what had puzzled him. There was just something strange about those children that he blinked and frowned, focusing harder. They looked like Elflings at first glance, for sure, but they seemed too stout and broad, really, and the way they walked was not so Eldar-like either. He could only see their backs, however, and there were constantly people breaking Talion's sightline, making it even more difficult to make out any details.

Without taking his eyes off them, he tapped Celebrimbor's arm and silently pointed in the direction. A second later, Celebrimbor gasped.

"Ring-bearer," he whispered.

That was when he realized what it was that had caught both of their attention. There was a strange buzz under Talion's skin, like the charge in the air a moment before a lightning would strike. Unmistakable power. And it came from the direction of these non-Elflings.

But then Celebrimbor added, in a wavering tone: "Mithrandir?"

Talion had to rub his eyes, which had gone dry from the prolonged staring he had been doing. After the blurriness subsided, he also recognized the tall shape next to the non-Elflings. It was Olórin, and he seemed to be talking to the smaller figures animatedly.

"Oh."

Without another word, Celebrimbor got up from his seat and walked away. Talion spluttered, torn between calling after him and staying where he was. With a curse, he gulped down the rest of his ale – it was really good ale – and left enough coin to cover the cost before hurrying after his husband.

His heart skipped a beat at the mere thought, and he had to force the silly grin off his face before he could join Celebrimbor, Olórin and their little companions.

"Hello," he blurted out a little foolishly, nearly crashing into Celebrimbor, who had come to a rather abrupt halt a few paces away from the group.

"Ah, Amath, how wonderful of you to join us as well," Olórin said cheerfully. "I was just about to introduce these friends to your husband."

"Oh. Well, actually my name isn't Amath. It's Talion."

Olórin only raised an eyebrow before turning to his companions and saying: "Alright then, I would like to introduce you to Talion, who is the husband of Celebrimbor, son of- …"

"Son of Colfingwen."

Olórin's eyebrow was raised a little higher.

"Celebrimbor, son of Colfingwen," he repeated, nodding a little. "And to you I would like to introduce my dear friends, of the Fellowship of the Ring. Firstly, we have here Frodo Baggins of the Shire."

"Nice to meet you," said one of the little creatures Talion had initially mistaken for an Elfling. Now he could see that he was very different indeed, clearly mature despite his short stature.

"And this is Legolas, son of Thranduil, of the Woodland Realm and Lord of Ithilien."

"Mae govannen," said the Elf standing next to Olórin, a tall, nearly gangly one with lax hair and shadowed eyes. His hand rested on the shoulder of perhaps the most surprising addition to their group. Talion blinked. Yes, he was seeing correctly.

"Last but certainly not least," Olórin continued, "we have here Gimli, son of Glóin, dwarf of Erebor and Lord of the Glittering Caves of Aglarond."

"At your service," said the staunch dwarf, bending neatly at the waist into a bow.

Talion only managed to offer this strange, mixed gathering a friendly, if silent smile, unsure of what to say. To his surprise, it was Celebrimbor who stepped forward, first bowing elegantly, and then beating his fist against his chest.

"You are of Durin's folk?" he asked, directed at the dwarrow.

"I am," the other said, furrowing his heavy brow. "How did you know?"

"Khuzd tada ma mahagrîf turghu ghelekhur, tulhajî Mahal ize. Your beard, of course. I would recognize Durin's kin anywhere."

"You are Celebrimbor," said the Elf, Legolas, suddenly. His dark eyes glittered. "Gimli, do you remember the doors of Moria? It is he who had hewn them, in accord with one of your kin."

"Indeed, it was Narvi and I who carved the moon door."

"And you speak our secret language?"

The dwarf nearly jumped and shook from some unnamed emotion, even under the clasping hand of Legolas still resting on his shoulder. Next to them, the little creature called Frodo Baggins smiled secretly, a little sadly, but still quite brightly.

"I see those have found each other," Talion said conspiratorially, smirking, when Frodo looked up at him in surprise.

"They seem to have, indeed." The young, shadowed face tilted up, revealing wide, green eyes. In them, Talion could see the scars, and when their gazes met, the energy buzzing beneath his skin intensified. This was the Ring-bearer?

Frodo smiled, another bittersweet, small thing.

"You are not an Elf, are you?"

Talion laughed.

"Indeed I am not."

"But you are married to one? I believe that must be a very interesting story, if you do not mind recounting it for me."

"I would not mind at all, young Master Baggins."

Yes, Talion had found many things in the Undying Lands. Happiness, for one. A love truer than he could have hoped for in his life, after everything that had happened. A companion that he loved, trusted and confided in. A husband to share it all with. A home, a place to stay and to heal. A new family, found rather than assigned by circumstances of birth. And now it seemed, many new friends that perhaps were in a situation not much different from his own. Alone at first, strangers and outsiders among the people who lived here, who were made to be here, not like them, who had miraculously, unwittingly escaped the fates that had been inscribed into them since birth. Instead, they had found their way here, to this place, this moment, where they may meet.

All of it, it let Talion look back upon his life, full of death and suffering, and say: it was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Translations_  
>  Meldanya - (Q.) my darling  
> Melitse - (Q.) sweetheart  
> Arimelda - (Q.) dearest  
> Khuzd tada ma mahagrîf turghu ghelekhur, tulhajî Mahal ize - (Khuzdul) A dwarf that does not keep his beard well kept, shames Mahal Himself

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Fine Line Between Light and Darkness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17548460) by [Tgaret990](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tgaret990/pseuds/Tgaret990)




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